


ASUNDER (I)

by curiosityanddreams



Series: ASUNDER [1]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/F, F/M, I Don't Even Know, I don't really know how tags work yet, I guess this is violent, Multi, Runner, The Glade, The Maze - Freeform, but who doesn't like a little violence?, med-jack, other things, there is also a bajillion relationships in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 11:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 77
Words: 139,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16809337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiosityanddreams/pseuds/curiosityanddreams
Summary: Hey, so I've been publishing this work for like, a year and a half on Wattpad, and I've realised that is a garbage site, so I'm moving here. All the chapters will be up pretty much momentarily, as well as the near entirety of the second book. Enjoy!





	1. We Are Here

It was 2:00 AM, and they were standing in front of the monitors. The lights are dim, and the screens give off a blue glow throughout the group. Highlighting their faces only seems to make the darkness grow in the room, until it is seeping into their skin.

The cameras are staring down into the Glade, which is hidden in the night. In the darkness, it is impossible to recognize the faces of anyone they used to know. Even if it were light out, some of them have changed so much they would be difficult to discern in the dim light.

The first girl can't bear to look any longer. She is the first to turn away, and face the group, waiting for a call to action. Waiting for a sign to keep going from their leader. Her eyes flicker, not unlike the lights, waiting for a call to action.

The second girl can't tear her eyes away from the screen. She is looking for him. Looking and looking for a boy she knows but cannot seem to grasp. In this time, he could have died. In fact, there is nothing to point to the contrary. The thought makes her stomach churn.

"We are in position," the third girl offers, her eyes finishes scanning the monitors. This girl doesn't know what she is supposed to be looking for. Maybe there is some hope on the other side of the monitors that she can't see. "On my end."

The clarification is not necessary.

The first girl glances over to the second, her eyes lingering on the girl. "We're both ready, when you are."

Satisfied, the third girl leans backwards. The wall behind her is cold and refreshing. It snaps her awake in the dead of the night, as everything is beginning to become fuzzy and murky. Given up, she waits for anyone else to speak.

The second girl is searching and searching, frozen on her feet. Where is he? She can't imagine she has died, but she has to know. While her brain is still here, and still listening, she must know if any of this is worth it. After all, he is half her reason.

The first girl can't tear her eyes away from the second. She doesn't like watching the second hurt. She doesn't like watching her stare out those screens. Every time she has managed to catch a glimpse out of them, something terrible has happened. Though it is the dead of night, she would put nothing past the Creators.

"So that's it then," the fourth and final girl lies in a corner, staring out at the group. "We go in tomorrow morning."


	2. I am Scared

I am awake.

My bones creak and moan as I peel myself off of the hard ground. Skin sticks to harsh metal, almost like it has been pressed against it so hard that every part of me is broken. As if I have been flattened by a steamroller, or a rolling pin. Not only am I force to lift myself with muscles I'm not sure exist, but with bones as sturdy as leaves on a tree in late autumn.

I don't know where I am.

It's cold in here, so much so that I can feel my arms tingling beneath the fabric of my shirt. Hair standing on end, under harsh and scratchy material. My fingers wrap around the ground below me, and I realize it is the bars of a cage. Both sharp and heavy, they surround me. I squeeze them, until I can feel the blood trickling down the palms of my hands, and I back away.

In this room, there is a large whir going about. Tuned out to the sound at the beginning, now it ensnares me and presses me tighter down inside this metal trap. The sound echoes in my heart, thumping over and over, speeding up again and again, until it feels like my heart is moving in rhythm with it. Racing and climbing mountains and heights, until I can no longer think about anything besides the panic. The sound strangles the air in my lungs, leaving my lip twitching and my arms tensing.

The last thing I notice, which now I realize is the most important thing involved in the current situation I am in, is that I am skyrocketing upwards. Leaving behind everything inside me, from my thoughts and feelings, to my intestines as the cage climbs higher and higher in the sky. Maybe this is the sky, but it is an all-encompassing darkness, so Hell is much more accurate.

I was wrong, terrifying is not the right word; this experience is petrifying.

After the situation settles in, I realize I am surrounded by the most infinite of darkness's I have ever seen. Blinking a few times, I realize my eyes are actually open, though there is nothing I can see. It's so dark that I can't even describe this as a blackness, but as an emptiness. There is even, seemingly, a lack of air in this room to accompany the black hole I have managed to get myself sucked into. Though I can feel the cage beneath me, and hear the sound of the machine behind me, it feels as though there is nothing there.

The only way to find out what there is beyond these metal walls is to reach forward and search for something, but my hands are glued to the cold wires that surround me, and as much as I want to let go I can't.

"What is this?" A voice shouts out. It fills the nothing, grabbing me and shaking me awake.

My hands let go of the platform I sit on, and my back is against the wall, and I am panting. Her voice is low and heavy and strong, and she breathes fire that shoots into the cage wall and up into my hands. She is full of rage, and destruction.

I search for words, but my voice has left my body, and probably shot into the air as we started to move up.

"Who's there?" Another girl speaks, and her voice is much softer, but laced with a threat, and she has a funny accent.

The other girl doesn't answer, and I wonder if the first girl is talking to me. Obviously she isn't, she can't see me, unless I am blind and that is why I see darkness. Going blind doesn't seem like something I'd forget, but now it doesn't seem like something I know for sure.

What do I remember?

I attempt to find the voice inside me, but I feel nothing there. Am I mute?

"We've got bigger things to worry about." The first girl, with the fiery tongue and the breath that heats this cool room says. "Where are we?"

"You think I know?" Behind her funny accent is a soft and melodic voice, one that I can imagine painting a picture of a sunset, and teaching people how to dance, even though she seems annoyed.

All I know is that we are moving up. How long we have been making our ascent is lost to me, but so is time as a whole. In this dark room, it feels like there is no linear time in the sense of the word, which would explain why I have more memories. There is a theory that states every instance of time to be occurring simultaneously, but we as people only have the ability to move forward through it.

Here it feels as if the universe is stalling, and my brain is trying to get back all the time it has lost, but none of the pieces are falling into place.

If time doesn't exist in here, maybe space doesn't either. I know the thought is ridiculous, but the dark is so dark it feels as if I am being swallowed by the absence of everything around me.

Then I remember the mechanical whirl, and I feel the tight cage beneath me, and I tell myself to stop panicking. Wherever we are, we are fine. Wherever we are going can't be any worse.

I wait for the angry girl to find a voice and answer, but she never does. There aren't enough voices in here to go around between the three of us, and the one she lets go of finds me.

"To state the obvious, we are going up."

Is that what my voice sounds like? As if it is cracking under the pressure of being squeezed out? I don't think I'm shy, I think I am just being scared. Why am I so scared?

I can hear her eyes roll through the dark. "Yeah, thanks."

The angry one sounds more sarcastic than I do, which is good. I don't think I'm a very sarcastic person either. She however, exudes attitude and anger.

"Sorry," I whistles out my throat, and I feel myself grasping at my neck.

There is a crash, and my hands find the walls, pinning myself in against the corner, my feet struggling to push me as far away from the sound as possible. The walls shake, and the metal behind me scrapes against the concrete walls we are rushing past. I can't help the way my spine shivers to the side at the sound.

It seems in my lapse of memory, I have forgotten how to breathe. Rushing, I try to get any shape or form of air into my lungs, but my throat is closing in on itself, and my chest is heaving, and the world is falling apart and I am panicking.

"Would you quit it?" The smooth voice demands, a threat entering her mouth again. It's not even a threat; it's the threat of a threat. So dangerous it makes me sit still and wait for it to pass.

"I don't see you doing anything to help us escape." The angry voice must be the one shaking the cage.

"That's not going to help us escape." The girl groans, and I hear the metal rattle behind her head, where she slams it against the wall. "That's going to help us get headaches."

"It doesn't matter!" My voice sprouts out, shrill and shaking. "We're trapped in a dark room, hurtling up to who knows where, at who knows what speed, and for who knows how long."

"13 minutes." A voice tells us.

My lungs drop to my knees, and suddenly I'm coughing the panic out of my throat. Thankfully there is no bile inside me, leading me to wonder when the last time I ate.

I don't know who I am.

"I'm sorry?" I can hear the surprise in the light voice, as she begins. "What did you just say?"

"I've been awake for 13 minutes." There is a third voice, which is more air than sound as if it is cracking under the pressure of having to speak for the first time in ages.

"Is this everyone in here?" The fire spits out into the room. "Because if there is anyone else hiding out here I swear I will-"

"Enough." I begin. "There isn't any time to waste talking right now."

"Well what would you rather we do?" The angry voices asks.

"Something useful!" The light voice answers.

"Anything that will keep us from panicking." I shout back. "We can't be panicking."

"You're screeching isn't helping the panicking." She fires back, and for a second all of our voices blur into one and I can't tell who is who.

"What we need is more information." I cut through.

"What we need is to get out."

"No, we need you to stop shaking this whole contraption, before it falls apart in our fingers."

"We need to stop fighting if we have any hopes of getting out of here." I tell them.

"Quiet." The third voice says it with a quiet conviction, a whisper of a thought, and for a second we all listen.

The floor slams still behind us, and the mechanical whirring stops. Above us I can hear pounding feet, and large laughter booming around us. My legs are still and I can't move. Shoving myself into the corner, not trying to wonder what is on the other side of these walls, but trying to forget there is another side.

Suddenly, there is light.

It opens in a stream, flooding down on top of us, and I can't flinch away into the corner anymore.

"Shuck."

The first word I hear is one I don't understand, and I wonder if the people above me speak a different language. Someone's hand is tapping my shoulder, trying to pull me up, but I am still blinded by the light. Blinking, my eyes try to adjust themselves, as I hear murmurs above me.

"You're kidding." An accented voice backs away from the box, I can hear feet scuffing off of one another, as they struggle to move forward. "Four shucking girls? Someone's got to go wake up the shuckin' slinthead. Alby needs to see this klunk."

As my eyes begin to adjust, I look up. There are figures looming over top of, all standing and peering down at me like vultures circling their pray. I blink and shake my head, as I try to get my eyes to see faster. All I can see are their rough outlines, blurry silhouettes.

"He's still shuckin' asleep, was sick as klunk last night, bet he's still buggin'" The accented voice continues. His speech is shaped almost identical to the girl with the high pitched voice rings out, although his is smoother, and his voice is kinder.

In one blink, suddenly I see everything. There are boys, maybe only six or seven peering down at me, and staring with burning eyes. They range from younger to older, but none of them could be pushing 20.

I wonder how old I am.

I let the hand on my shoulder lift me up into the centre of the box, peering around at the girls with me. There's no way to tell who is who, from their silent mouths and quiet expressions, but I can see them perfectly well.

The girl who lifted me up and forward has red hair flowing down to her shoulders in a frizzy tangled mess. It moves of its own accord, and she glares above us with her electric blue eyes, and freckles that dance across her cheeks. She looks like a flame, and I wonder if the name will stick.

The blonde girl is much taller than her, but not any taller than me as I realise how short the ginger is. The blonde has sparkling blue eyes, and a furrowed brow ready to crease to anger at any second. Her skin is smooth and clear, though slightly darker than the other girl beside her.

The third girl has curly black hair, in tightly ringlets around her dark face. She looks much younger than the other two, but is the same height as the ginger. She stares at the boys around us, and her eyes are like dissecting tools.

I don't know what I look like.

"Girls, this is a load of klunk." I stare up to find a boy with a red, round face, glaring down with anger.

Another boy runs up, and I hear the echo of the cage as I slam my body against it, another boy appears above me, and I bump my way into the centre of the cage. The longer we are in here, the more chatter seems to be irrupting.

"Dibs on the blonde." One of them calls out. "What's your name sweetheart?"

"She'll bite your head off if you speak to her one more time." The ginger bites, and I immediately realise she is the angry voice.

"Feisty," another one calls out.

There are more voices. I can't tell if I can't hear them, or if they blur into one another. I can't think right now. I don't know where I am, or what is going on.

Another boy arrives, and as I move back I feel someone's arm catch my wrist. I spin to see the tiny girl, shaking her head at me. I wonder which voice she is.

The boy who arrives has darker skin, and seems to be older than most of the other boys. He moves next to the boy with the accent, staring down at me. The accented one kneels, looking at the three of us with not just curiosity and concern. When our eyes meet, he flinches back and I wonder if he is just as scared as I am.

"If anybody touches these girls, you're gonna spend the night sleepin' with the Grievers. Banished, no questions." The dark boy pauses. "Ain't nobody touching them."

"I take it you're the brains of the operation?" The angry ginger asks, moving forward and pulling herself out of the cage.

The boys back away as she moves around them. Avoiding her as if she is contagious.

The blonde follows her up next, quickly backing up the other girl.

"I take it you're the shank of the operation?" Their leader asks right back, and laughter erupts around the rest of them.

The smallest girl pulls me along as she moves towards the grass. Looking at me to get me to push her up, I stand frozen. There is no way I'm going up there, into a field surrounded by boys with hungry eyes and aching jaws.

Someone offers her a hand, which she takes and she disappears above the edge.

"Where are we?" Another girl asks, and I can't tell if it is the small girl or the blonde, but whoever it is is the light voice with the accent.

"That'll all be answered tomorrow." The darker boy, who must be their leader says. He stops addressing the flame as his voice gets louder. "They'll be in the shuckin' Slammer tonight, since we ain't got anywhere to put them. Newt you'll take care of that. We'll decide what to do with them in a Gathering when the Runners get back. Alright?"

Slammer? What's that? I can't tell where we are supposed to be going, and I don't plan on moving until I get some clarity.

"Why don't we just put them in the Homestead Alby?" The accented boy asks. "It's more welcoming. It's not fair to lock them up just because they are shuckin' girls."

The darker boy, Alby, looks up at the accented boy. He looks like he's about to argue but sighs. "Take them to the Homestead, then. Everyone else clear out, if any of you go near them I swear we will have a banishing tonight instead of a bonfire."

No one moves, still ogling at me in the cage. I'm all alone, trapped at the bottom as it seems.

"Don't just stand there," he booms again. "Move along."

I wait for the boys around us to dissipate, as I stand still. Letting their eyes linger for a few moment, they fade off into the background, until only the boy with the accent is left. Bending down into the cage, he still stares at me.

"Planning on staying in there all day?" He laughs, bright eyes glistening with curiosity. The words tumble out of his mouth with emphasis on syllables I would never think to put next to each other. "Don't be scared, no Glader is going to hurt you. We're good people. Slinthead maybe, but decent."

He reaches a hand down into the cage, waiting for me to take it. A few seconds pass before I let his hand take my wrist, and he helps pull me out.

We are in a large field, filled with green grass. It goes up to my ankles, tickling the bit that is exposed from my rolled up pants. I let a laugh bubble out my throat, as I feel the sun on me, something that it feels like I haven't felt in a while. Looking over, I see the two older girls congregated together, while the younger one seems to be peering around at the light.

"What's your name?" The boy asks me.

"Leo." The word is light and free, and I realise I at least remember something about myself. Leo, that is my name. It is soft and smooth, much like the light that fills this space, and the earth that surrounds me.

"I am Newt." He continues, offering a hand to me to shake it.

As I reach to take it, I watch him fall back. Soaring through the air, he disappears down into the metal box behind us, falling against the hard surface.

Someone is tugging at my hand, and as I spin around, I watch the flame running away from the boy she just shoved down into a hole, and the blonde girl ripping me forward.

"Come on!" She shouts, as she lets go to run. She is the one with the light accented voice.

It takes me a second to start sprinting after her. Where they are going, I don't know, but I am running for my life as fast as I can to get there. Away from the vulture boys, and the metal cage, and the darkness and the fear. We are heading towards the large stone walls that surround the grassy field. At the front is the flame, shoving her way past boys and the blonde slowly trails behind her, dodging the wake of boys the flame has left behind.

The ginger is tackled by the leader, Alby, and the blonde stops to kick him off with one swift motion, before she is approached by the red-faced boy. He moves for the blonde, but she dodges around him, making her way to the wall, and slipping through the cracks.

Getting up and moving, the angry girl tries to get through, only to be tackled again by the red-face boy. More boys are moving towards them, and some are heading for me, so I spin around on my heels

There has to be a way out of here. As I look to the side, I realise there is another door with cracks that keep it open. My feet move off the ground and further away from them all, I move towards the opposite end of the field. As I approach the box, I run around it wide.

Newt is out, and he is shaking his head and flashing concerned eyes at me as I move towards the exit. Limping, he moves for me, trying to stop me, but his injured leg hold him back and there are no boys ahead to stop me.

"Stop!" I hear him scream. "Don't be a bloody shank!"

My muscles are clenching as he gets closer and closer. What's he warning me about? Escaping? Why should I trust him?

Why shouldn't I?

I don't have a good answer, but I like to think trust is earned first. I don't like to believe in the benefit of the doubt.

He chases after me, I hear his heavy feet pounding over the roar of my own heart. He's sped up now, this must be urgent. "Don't' go in the maze!"

I stop at his words. It's a maze?

Spinning around, he hasn't given up his approach but he still lags behind me. Is he trying to warn me, or is just trying to capture me? I can't take the chance, so I keep running for the exit, moving as quickly as I can. I'm only a few steps away from freedom.

My feet are taken out from the side of me, as I slide across the dirt, rolling about in the mud. My skin burns as it tears off the ground, and I struggle to move up and shove the boy above me away. When I spin on my back, I see Newt, struggling to hold me down.

"You really shouldn't have done that." He grunts, it's a warning, but not a malicious one. If anything, he seems more exasperated than upset, and I can't help but feel like I've disappointed him.

I don't think he means us any harm, but I can't help but hold myself back as I feel us moving forward.

"See, this is why we listen to Alby." The red-faced boy moves up to us, essentially cradling the unconscious ginger girl in his arms. "These girls belong in the Slammer."


	3. I'm Lost

2 Dawn

My feet pound down and up off of the grey cobblestone beneath me. My lungs bend as I push them forward, and my vision blurs but if I stop moving the boys behind me will catch me.

I am surrounded by walls.

Grey walls that are covered in dark green vines. Walls that turn every which way, and as I spin through them I get lost but I don't care. It doesn't matter where I end up, so long as those boys stop chasing me. We planned to escape, that red-head and I, and I'm not going to let that plan go to waste.

It might be ten minutes I've run before I realise I am out of breath, and facing a dead end. My feet back up, looking for a boy behind me, but there are none to be found. They either got lost, or didn't even follow me in here to begin with.

Now, to get out.

I could retrace my steps, but if I do that then I am going to be back in that field, never mind the fact I couldn't retrace my steps if I wanted to. What I need is a way to find out where I am going, but it is difficult to see, and the path is winding around in here.

There are vines on the walls.

Wrapping my hands around the vines, they struggle to keep a tight grip. The first hoist is the hardest, as I rip my feet off the ground and up into the air, using the rocks as hooks for my shoes. I reach another hand up, pulling myself higher, as my muscles burn.

This is difficult, but I need to get to the top. It seems that the walls are as tall as a sky scraper, and I don't know if I can manage to get all the way up but I'll be damned if I don't try.

My feet find their way up the walls for five meters, before my grip slips. A scream escapes my throat as I fall through the air. I hit the ground on my feet first, but they give way to the pressure of my body and I fall on my side. My shoulders shake and my lungs heave as I try to breathe. It's as dark as the elevator now, and I feel like am being sucked into the ground. Screaming doesn't work anymore, as my lungs can't seem to force any air inside them. It feels like I am drowning.

Someone's cold hands are on my neck, and I grip their arms as I try to breathe in and out. Try to swallow air, and try to find out where exactly I am inside my body and my mind. There is a boy in front of me, and he is holding me still. With one move, he lifts my ribs off the ground, and my lungs fill with air.

I cough, and choke on trying to breathe, and my vision begins to return, as I see a boy with soft eyes and dark hair smiling down at me. With his free hand he gestures up and down, in a breathing motion, and his lips move although I do not hear him speak a word.

He holds me still, as my breathing steadies, still kneeling down next to me.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his mouth parts slightly as he finishes the words.

I nod. "Yeah." I cough again, and it rips through me. "I fell."

"You shucking climbed the walls?" He asks.

I shake my head. "Obviously not, or else I wouldn't be on the ground."

He smiles at this, and then his face pales. Letting go of me, he backs away before sitting down on the wall opposite of me. He curls his legs up towards him, leaning his blue shirt against the wall behind him.

I keep myself propped up in between the walls, staring at him.

"What's your name?" He asks.

"Sure have a lot of questions, don't you?" I laugh back.

"You sure don't like to answer them," he shakes his head back and forth. He seems to be out of breath too. "I am not normally this shuckin' nosey, but you aren't 'normally'."

"I'm Dawn." I didn't remember my name until I said it, but now it is out in the open for him to digest.

"Dawn," he repeats the word as he smiles at me. "My name is Minho."

"Minho." I copy his speech pattern. He has a bit of an accent, but so far everyone else here has had the same one as him. Except for that blonde boy who the red-head shoved in the box. He sounded like me, but if I was fancy.

"You talk like Newt," he notices.

I stand up abruptly. "You're from the grassy place."

"The Glade," he stands up like me, moving closer in. "You've been there."

"They were going to lock me up, so I left." I tell him. "You're one of them, aren't you? You're going to bring me back."

"How did you get there?" He demands, his soft curiosity replaced by genuine fear and concern. "When did you get there?"

"An elevator." I am not sure why I'm telling him this. "Only a short while ago."

He pauses, before raking his eyes up and down me. If he doesn't believe me, then I doubt he was sent to come get me. Why is he in here?

I let myself take him in. He wears dark brown pants, and a large belt over his shoulders with various items attached to them. Water, I think, and food in a pouch. He rakes a hand through his dark hair, and it stands up on end as he stares me down.

"You're the shucking Greenie?" He asks. "How did you get in the Maze?"

"I ran." I hadn't realised it was a maze, although it doesn't surprise me.

"You have to come back with me." He tells me. "This maze is dangerous."

I nod. He is going to bring me to those boys, but I can't go back. It is too dangerous.

Waiting for me to move to him so he can take us to the place he lives, I look at him, before tuning and sprinting in the other direction.

"Shuck." I hear him mutter the sound before he comes flying after me.

I don't know how fast he can run, but I hope I can run faster. My feet slide and slip along the cobblestone, and I can hear Minho grunting as he hurries behind me. I turn a corner, and my feet stop as Minho slams into the back of me.

In front of us is a gigantic monstrosity. It's large and dark, and whirs as it moves with gigantic rods and spikes point out of every which side of it. The size of a horse, and with a loud clicking sound erupting from its sides as it moves, it is terrifying.

A hand clamps over my mouth, but I wasn't about to scream, as Minho drags me around the corner.

I squirm from his grip, running in the opposite direction of that monster. As fast as my feet can carry me, I move further and further away from whatever that thing was. I couldn't tell you if it was an animal or a machine, and I don't want to get a close enough look to see the difference.

"That," Minho spits, as he leads me around a bend. "That is what is so shucking dangerous in the maze, slinthead. We call them Grievers."

"I don't care what they are called, I just want to get as bloody far away from them as I can." I tell him, and it's the truth.

"You don't care about what's going on?" He pulls me in the opposite direction I was headed, and though I don't want to go back to the grassy place I let myself follow him.

"No."

I should care, I definitely should. Everything around me is unknown. Where I am, the people I am with, this maze and that monster, as I think about it I don't know anything about my past. That doesn't matter though. What I don't know can hurt me sure, but at this moment I have more relevant things to worry about than knowing. Like, what my next step is.

What am I doing next? I will get to that field, and I find those girls that I came here with. Then, we, I don't know. We don't run back in this maze until I figure out, something.

I don't know what to do.

We get back to the field, and I pause before following him in. A few boys stare at us as we make our way towards the center, and I realise the sun is about to set. I don't know when I got here, nor do I know how long I've been running. It's not like I particularly care anyway.

One of the boys comes up to us, before taking me by the arm and pulling me with him somewhere. He's the one in charge, and they called him Alby. As he grabs my wrist I rip it from his grip, stumbling back into Minho. Minho glances at me out of the corner of his eye, before he also backs away.

"Don't touch me." I glare at the leader.

He rolls his eyes. "You aren't in a position to be telling me what to do, after what you've done. You found her Minho? We have the others."

"Others?" Minho asks, following Alby. His eyes linger on me, gesturing for me to follow them. "I'm gone for like three hours and she ain't the shuckin' weirdest thing to show up?"

"Three girls, they ain't tellin' us their names." Alby spits, as he moves to a door. It's to a large house that boys are building off of. When they see me, a few stop what they are doing. One even goes as far to slip and fall on the planks of wood he is carrying, and I can't help but laugh at that. "What's this one's?"

"If I knew it would I be standing like some such twiddling my thumbs?" Minho has either forgotten my name, or is letting me have it. When he looks to me and winks, I know it is the latter, and I don't know why I'm thankful he is keeping my name a secret.

"I'm Dawn." I tell Alby, following them in the door.

Not pausing as I walk in, I take a chair and sit in it. There is a circle of chairs in the room, each with a boy sitting in one, except for three empty ones, waiting for me, Minho and Alby. I don't want these boys to think I am some weak girl, so if I pretend I own the situation, it can't go poorly.

"Now that the Greenie's here, part two of the meeting can begin." Alby says. "What to do with her."

"With me?" I ask.

Alby rolls his eyes. "Slim it."

I do as he tells me, but I'm not happy about it. All the boys are facing me, mostly unsure of what to do.

"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not here?" I ask. "I'm right here."

"Didn't I tell you to slim it?" He demands. "Listen, you're not part of the council, which means you shut your trap, and you listen, and you wait until I ask you to speak. Got it?"

I scoff. "Unfortunately, yeah."

"So, the Greenbean decided to run in the maze, right? So, what are we going to do?" He continues.

"She's a shank, and a girl greenie." The angry boy, with crazy eyebrows calls out. He has a bruise on his face "She should be spending the night with a griever."

"I am not going near those bloody things." I spit out. "And who exactly are you?"

"I'm a keeper." He answers with pride, as if it means something.

A kid who takes pride in a title. I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, talk to me when you're relevant."

"Gally, you've already said your piece." Alby scolds the boy, who pouts in a corner like a child. "Let Frypan go."

These aren't just boys, these are children. I really don't want to deal with them, at all. Alby is in charge, and he likes order so I shut my mouth.

The boy, who must be named Frypan nods his head. "The girl's got guts. She managed to outwit every single person in the room."

"I almost tackled her." The angry boy pipes in.

"Did I ask you what you almost did?" The boy, Frypan, continues. "No, I did not."

A few of the boys chuckle.

"She got here and she managed to get out, not knowing any better, after a bunch of guys were staring at her like a meal. And I would know because I serve all you shucks your food. So she ran, don't think should be in any trouble for that. If anything, all you pigs should be in trouble."

"What's your recommendation then, Frypan?" Alby continues.

The boy, Frypan, shrugs. "I guess just to let her walk out and into the field."

Alby nods and points at the next boy. "What about you Winston?"

"Punish her. Don't mean to be rude, but I think she should spend at least one night in the cell. It's only fair. She didn't know she was breaking a rule, but if she doesn't get punish, what example does that set?" The boy says.

It keeps going on like this, three more boys agree with Frypan, and two agree with Winston. I'm thankful the boy who talks like me is on my side, even though we did shove him down on to an elevator. He smiles at me when he says his bit, where most of the others avoid my eyes.

"It's on you Minho." He continues. "You're the split vote, between a night in the cells and lock up until the bonfire for Dawn here."

The boys stiffen as they look to Minho. A few eyes glance to me, as they hear my name. It is the first they have heard. It seems as if I'm the first girl they've ever heard speak, let alone have a name.

Are there no other girls here?

"Bonfire." He quickly fires back, without a second thought. "This one came back with me immediately when I found her, and we almost got eaten by a Griever. I feel like she's been through enough at this point."

"Good that." Alby stands up. "She'll be released with the others."

As quickly as the meeting started it's over. None of the boys talk to me as they filter out, and the boy they call Gally shoves past me. I shrug away from him, not willing to put up with his behaviour. Minho gives me another wink, before heading out as well.

There goes the only one I trusted.

"Here." The one who talks like me steps forward. "They call me Newt. I'll bring you to your friends."


	4. I'm fighting

My fists pound off of the wall one last time, as blood begins to spill out the sides. It's concrete, and won't give in to my rage and anger. Instead, I let my blood colour the walls. We have been trapped since I first became alive. Trapped in a moving cage, trapped in a clearing, trapped in a cement room. Never will we be free it seems, and all I have is my rebellion.

"Move off it, would you?" A voice calls from behind the door.

My feet planted firmly on the ground, I cross my arms and wait for the door to open. On the other side is a tall blonde boy, holding the tall blonde girl. They both talk the same kind of funny, and I think it's only fitting he be the boy to escort her to a prison.

"You'll be let out in a few hours," he lifts his hand and gestures for her to walk in.

She looks in, and he waits for her to walk in of her own accord. Much different from the tomato-faced boy, who through me in like a rag doll. My head is still bleeding from where it smashed off the ground, as well as my fist from where the slammed off the walls.

Moving my hair in front of my eyes, I check it's colour to realise I am staring down a bright red. Too fluorescent to be natural, I wonder what kind of bottle it came from, and what its natural colour is, and why would I dye it.

Probably because the colour suits the blood that runs down my hands well.

When he closes the door, the foreign girl peers around us in the cage, waiting for us to speak.

"How did you get back here?" The brunette looks up from her spot in the corner on the wall, and she cocks her head to the side. "You made it in the maze."

"One of them found me." The girl answers. "His name was Minho, saved me."

"There are monsters." The pipsqueak suddenly pipes in.

Since when has she known that? No one told us that in the time we got put here. Is she working for them?

"Yeah." The funny talker sighs. "They call 'em Grievers, and they are bloody terrifying. I'm lucky to have even gotten out of there at all."

"How did you know about those things?" I snarl, turning to the smaller girl.

"The boy who brought me here spoke." She shrugs.

Of course that's what happened. Not suspicious at all. It's always the ones you least expect who turn out to be the backstabbing traitors. I'm just surprised we managed to figure it out this soon.

"How long have you been in here?" The funny-talker continues.

No one answers, because no one knows. However long she has been out is how long we have been in here. I am aching to be free.

"So, what's our next escape plan?" I muster out. Not willing to accept defeat, I have to move on.

"There isn't one." The brunette's voice chills my next. It's low and solemn, but she speaks as if she knows the truth, and when she speaks everyone stops to listen.

I scoff, trying to brush it off. "There is always a next step. What are we doing next?"

"We are stuck, between a field of monsters, and a maze of monsters." The funny girl continues. "That thing I saw, I'd rather be around these idiots any second of the day then step foot in there without a plan."

"That's what this is." I begin, turning to face the girls behind me. They all stare at me, and I wonder if my voice has as much command as the brunette's did in that very second. It seems as though when any of us talk, the rest of us are really listening. "Making plan."

That isn't how this works. There needs to be a leader of any group, and if we are going to be in a coalition against those boys, we had better work together.

"That's what this isn't." The brunette continues, but I know if I bite back she will give in and let me take charge. "We aren't making a plan to get together and organised just so that we go out there and have to get back."

"Would you rather be here?"

"I don't think they want to hurt us." The funny-talker cuts in.

I scoff. "Yeah, sure, that's why they locked us up. Because they don't want to hurt us, and that makes sense."

The funny-talker rolls her eyes, and I look to the brunette with a challenge, and I watch as she falters.

"I'm not saying we should listen to them, and let them take charge of us." She corrects me, and I'm surprised to hear her speak at all. "Let's think this through, we need the time and the information."

"We don't need information." I shake my head. "We need the action. If we just try hard enough-"

"Quiet."

Everyone listens to the pipsqueak, as they wait for her opinion. While the rest of us have risen to standing, something I only just realised, she still sits. With closed eyes that crinkle, she concentrates on something I can't hear, nor can I see.

The door cracks open. On the other side is the funny-talking boy, and the leader.

"Locked her up for a good five minutes?" The brunette laughs.

"You want to stay in here longer?" The leader asks.

The brunette shakes her head, but none of us move for the door. As much as I hate being locked up, I'm not racing out of here. There is an expression that goes something about a frying pan, and a fire, and I'd rather not find that applicable here.

"No." The funny-talker answers. "The bonfire is this close?"

"What bonfire?" The brunette asks, tipping forward, closer to the door.

They're giving in to these boys, and floating towards them. Never mind the fact that all they seem to want to do is keep us locked up in a cage. For some reason our mere existence requires them to keep us trapped, and I don't trust any of them for one minute.

"Planning on staying in there all day?" He isn't talking to me, and when I dare to glance up, I realise he is looking at the brunette.

She stiffens, about to say something when the funny-talker takes the stage. "No."

Swiftly, she pushes past the two boys in the doorframe, and moves outside. The brunette is the next to follow, looking back at the pipsqueak. The last girl doesn't move for a second, before she stands up and walks over to me, standing with me in solidarity.

I may not trust her completely, but at least she shows some loyalty to me. Granted, it may be false. She might just be trying to trick me.

"Still not speaking?" The leader asks me.

Leaning off the wall, I push past him, my shoulder colliding with his body as I move on. I am so done with boys, and I've only ever known them for a couple minutes.

The light is coming from a roaring fire in the centre of the clearing. It's taller than a human, taller than anything I've ever seen as the flames lick the sky, and I can't help but be impressed by its height. It takes no time for me to move closer, before I am jogging up and under the fire.

Around it sit boys, most of whom are drinking a strange brown liquid from glass jars. They seem to be laughing, and running about, and suddenly this place doesn't feel so bad anymore. Through the chaos and laughter, and the lack of order I feel as if I can breath after what has been a lifetime under water.

"Hey ginger," a boy laughs as he sees me, moving up closer. "What a fancy sight for you to be here."

"Who let Ben have so much to drink?" The leader asks, moving around to see. "Where's Gally?"

I move past the boys, already done with their behaviour. Great, as if a pleasant moment couldn't be ruined. As if the only nice half a minute I have had here hasn't been stolen from me.

My feet find a way past them all, moving around the fire and over to the big house. Construction on it seems to have halted since the tomato-faced boy yelled at his crew to stop staring at us.

I move, sitting down on part of the construction site. The boards creak under my weight, and I can't help but notice how terribly constructed this building is. One foot out of place, and the whole structure will come crashing down on top of me. I sit on it anyway, doubting that I will make a mistake and tip it in one direction or the other.

"Hey why did you run away?" The drunk asks.

His feet slur beneath him and his mouth trips and tumbles along the words that spill out of his mouth. When he sees me, he runs a hand through his short blonde hair, tucking the longest strand behind his ear. As he moves closer, the liquid in his glass sloshes out and on to his hand.

"Why would I stay near you?"

He laughs at me, like I'm a joke, and continues to step closer. I don't back away, but still manage to stay out of reach. "Funny thing that, a shank like you would be lucky to have a shank like me."

"A shank like me would rather die." I spit, and at this he frowns.

"Come on, feisty, I'm just having fun."

I roll my eyes, stepping closer to him as the anger bubbles inside me. Waiting for him to lay a finger on me, begging him for an excuse to hit him. And how I want to hit him, so badly. Not just him, but every single smug little face I've ever seen, and every single pair of beady eyes that has been flashed in my direction. I want to beat in all the smug expressions on this earth, and all the people who put me here, and everyone I have met and have yet to meet.

"Please, doll." When his fingers touch my face I swipe them off of me, and he sways backwards. When his expression turns to anger, mine hardens. "Do you know who I am?"

"Do I look like I care?" There is no laughter in my voice, as I say it.

He reaches for me, and grabs me by the wrist. It wraps around me tightly, and when I reach to try to pry him off of me he does not budge.

"Let go." I mutter, but he pays me no mind.

"I'm Ben." He slurs, though he maintains a strong grip. "And you'll be screaming my name all night."

"I'm Michelle." The name is in my lips before it is in my head. "And I will be in your nightmares."

I move with my foot to kick him, but feel him torn off of me. His body rolls along the dirt, and he grunts but does not get up. Stepping closer, with a foot ready to kick him, I suddenly feel myself being pushed back.

In front of me is the tomato faced boy, who shoves me back slightly, but not harshly. As if he is afraid of harming me. I am not a delicate flower, and if he for one second thinks I am going to let him manhandle others while stepping into fights for me, he has another thing coming.

As if I wouldn't know his strength; he is the boy who attacked me, and brought me to their prison.

"I don't need you to help me." I spit.

He reaches up over to the side of the building, lifting a drink off of one of the planks of wood that holds its skeleton together.

"Please, as if you could've handled that." The jar is raised to his lips after he laughs.

I snatch the glass from his hands, raising it up to my lips. It burns like fire as it swims down my throat, and I only keep drinking. The glass is empty. I smash it off the ground, and it shatters in a bunch of pieces.

"Don't help me again."


	5. I'm fighting

4 Ella

The world is fuzzy and murky, and when I see the clouds that touch the dirt and the hum the silence makes, I realise I am not awake.

At least I am aware of my own slumber. It seems everyone around me is happy to exist in a state of suspension, neither here nor there, and where the air is so thick I can barely breathe. Though this is life, I am not entirely convinced I am living.

Which doesn't matter though, because it feels as though the answer is far away. Trapped in a box made of my own ignorance, past a bridge made of my own memories that I know are there but I can't see or touch.

It's clear enough that I can see, but it is a hazy sort of sight. A viewing that is neither past nor present, a holus-bolus of the two. Which is odd, because I know that isn't how time works. Nothing seems to be how anything works at all here.

"You know, that girl Dawn seems to be having fun."

I'm back in the Glade. Except it is the Glade, and it isn't. There is a fire, and the flames are radiant, and the faces of the people around me are in shadow.

Dawn is not in the dark. Like her name, she is effulgent, and the liquid in the glass in her hand seems to sparkle, as she laughs with the boys she stands with. They seem brighter in her rays, and they are almost in the light beneath the warmth that showers off of her. They are laughing with her too, and though there is no sound it is pleasant.

"Man, she sure is the hottest shank."

The boys beside me mistake her light for heat, because often the two come together. Like the sun, and like a lightbulb. Although these two things seem to come separate for her, unlike Michelle.

I can feel her heat from here, and it cuts through the cold night air, and is stronger than the roaring flames before me.

"No way, look at that tiny ginger."

She may have red hair, but she is not small. There is no way something that small could produce that much energy. It doesn't just come in the form of heat, but also in anger and passion. I can tell she is sitting down, but I can feel the buzz in her fingers and the tingle in her lips from over here.

"What did they day her name was?"

"They didn't."

She doesn't need a name. None of them do. These things have been assigned to us, like this place here. None of it is really ours to keep. Instead, it holds a place above our heads and keeps us in firmly. Solidifying that we know nothing by giving us the hope of one single fact. A name.

But there is no point to a name when it has no history. Words only serve the purpose to explain, and I do not get any sense of definition by the names of the others around me. This world feels too fabricated. It's stitched together so terribly that there are more holes in this reality than there are answers, and I don't think I will ever be able to fill all the gaps lacking in my knowledge.

Besides, I know the name is fake.

"What about the other one?"

They aren't talking about me, they are talking about the other girl. The one who doesn't have a marker, and who easily slips in and out of the crowd. I heard her name when she told the boy. Leo, a word for a lion in a language I know I speak but don't remember the name of. How odd, since she manages to remain so hidden. Her roar is a mighty squeak, and I seem to have lost her in this mess of a fog quite easily.

"What about the other one?"

It seems as though I am not the only one who has lost her, though I doubt they do not see her in this haze. No one else seems affected by the air, not like I am. It's being pumped through my lungs without my consent, and I know if I get my head up long enough to breathe I will finally be able to see. It feels like I am in a river of secrets, and I know I don't know how to swim.

"Did she go back to the Homestead?"

"Who cares?"

They don't even mention me, and I wonder if I am the least remarkable of them all. Maybe that is why I feel like I am separated from everyone else, because I truly am invisible. Naturally that can't be real, as I have already talked to different boys around here and there, as well as the girls.

There are two possibilities. The first being that they do nothing about our situation because they can't see the suffocation in the clouds. Otherwise, they see the grey space but do not know what they can do to stop it. Both possibilities should be equally terrifying, but I am not scared. There is always something to be done in any situation, if I can just think my way out.

Bumbling through the crowd, I touch the boys in the barrier that separates us. The closer I move to the fire, the dimmer it gets and I can't help but think it's not a coincidence. As if I am sucking the life away from the flames, and taking it myself. Where I am putting this surplus of energy I do not know, seeing as I am not being provided with any clarity.

"You're awfully quiet."

Her voice brings me back to the Glade, and I am standing with the ginger by the Homestead. She leans against it with indifference, but stares at me with conviction on a throne of fire. She took the bonfires power and has sat upon it, making herself bigger and larger than the rest of us, and she is prepared to swallow me whole.

"I don't have much to say."

When I look around, I realise it is actually a party. Boys are chatting and laughing, drinking away their worries. Perhaps the liquid they have been passing around, some sort of inebriant I imagine, dulls the world around them until there is no holes in the fabric the Glade weaves, and there is no fabric at all.

"You're too smart to be quiet."

I don't know how she imagines someone as ignorant as me could ever be smart, but I let her have the thought. There is no use challenging her idea before I can actually figure out if I am intelligent beneath all these stolen memories.

"I could say the same about you." I tell her.

It's the truth. From the way her eyes pass over me, I can tell she is calculating, if maybe she herself doesn't even realise it. There is something about the way her eyes fix on something to observe it that can be nothing except a dissection. Taking apart everything piece by piece, not out of curiosity but out of doubt. Maybe that's what she can boiled down to being untrusting.

She scoffs, wiping away the glisten of liquid that still sticks to her lips. That's where the hum in her comes from; it's the same liquid that is in Dawn's hand. However, it comes to this girl from a different place, one of anger rather than one of amusement.

"What are you staring at?"

The clarity in the moment shift down off of me, and I feel myself being swallowed whole. For a second it is blindingly white, and then it I blindingly dark. Dull pounding comes through my head, spreading into my hands, and there is no Glade, and no girls, and no mystery to be lost in.

It begins to become clear, but still remains murky, and I can see a man approaching me, with a rodent nose that twitches as he glares me down. He is surrounded by smoke, the same colour as his white coat and I know he isn't really here, but he is really somewhere.

Somewhere I once was.

"What are you staring at, Ella?"


	6. I'm Confused

5 Leo

It is still dark when I wake up. The ground is soft, and it sticks to my face by the dew that clings to it. Peeling my face off the ground, I can feel the dirt that hangs on my skin, and with a quick raise of my hand, I brush it off.

I couldn't tell you what hour of the night it is. When I look back towards the house, I notice the fire and the party around it have completely disappeared. Its warmth is no longer in the air, and neither is its energy.

I sniff, before coughing as I pull myself off of the ground. Last night wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. Avoiding the party and the boys along with it proved to be a very easy task, since they were all pre-occupied. Besides, the garden was empty and I was free to explore it.

In this black moment, time stands still. On her feet, I don't move, don't even breathe. There is no one else up, as I look around searching for a sign of another living being. There are bodies strewn about on the ground around the fire, as well as some in hammocks farther off from the centre. I manage to be on the very outskirts, sleeping only a couple meters from where tomatoes grow from the ground.

Light cracks over the walls, and time seems to begin rolling again. It casts a glow over me, as I must stand in the far west of the field. The light manages not to hit the plants at first. They are in the shadow of the stone walls that surround us, keeping me trapped.

The grass looks bright, almost yellow in the soft light. Even if the sun is moving, it finally feels serine. Maybe it's not time stopping I'm looking for, but solitude, and the peace in it. So far, the people around me have proven to be nothing but chaotic.

But when the sun kisses me, I feel as if I could breathe in this field for more than a minute.

A loud banging sounds stops me from my thoughts. For a second, I think I've been shot from the way my body freezes and my hands clamp shut. My feet sink into the ground, trapping the soles of my boots deep within the earth, and I only sink deeper with every passing thought.

Rough scraping, unlike the metal of the box that brought me here, fills the area. Something is being ripped to shreds, and torn apart, and it is so high pitched it rattles my brain. It hurts, but I cannot flinch to cover myself. I cannot even move.

The wall breaks apart before me, massive block tearing open, and just now I realise how they must have closed. Something is ripping them open, and maybe it is one of those monsters that Dawn found in that maze.

I do not scream, but I find the ability to run. It jumps into my feet, and they spring back as I sprint away from the walls. There is nowhere to escape and nowhere to breathe.

My body rams into something hard and I knock myself over. It's my shoulder that hits the ground first and then I am able to roll on to my back. The loud sound has stopped. Suddenly it's just me in this field again.

"What are you shucking doing?" A boy grunts beside me.

I turn myself up and over, to see the boy who sits on the ground next to me, scratching the back of his neck.

"Sorry," I manage, as I realise I must look like a crazy person. "It's just the walls."

"Right, you were locked up last night when they moved," he sighs. When he moves up I watch him crack his back. He doesn't extend a hand to help me up, and it some ways I am grateful for it. Only been here maybe 12 hours and I'm already running into people and behaving like a lunatic.

"Sorry." I repeat, but he shrugs it off.

"I never did get your name," he begins.

"Leo," I nod to him.

When their leader was pestering me for my name earlier, I assumed that Newt hadn't told anyone it. Which is odd, because I know he knows it. Unless he hit his head when he fell into the box, but I doubt that. He was up and running only seconds later, and despite his limp I doubt he was hurt.

That being said, it seemed as though the ginger and the youngest girl were keeping their names secret. As far as I know, they didn't tell anybody, and they certainly didn't tell me.

"I'm Minho," he says, as he looks over his shoulder, "and duty calls."

"Good luck." I offer, as I watch him jog off towards the maze doors, unsure of where he is going. None of the other boys would go in there, but for some reason it seems like it's his job.

"That's the dumbest thing a greenie's ever said to me," he laughs, "but thanks."

There are so many odd words in here, which cling together in ways I don't understand. As far as I can tell, it seems as though I am from the same place as most of the other boys, so I don't get why their slang escapes me. Nevertheless, I can't help but wonder what all the words he says mean.

"Hey shank!" I hear someone call out behind me, and I know the voice to be that of the blonde.

She is behind me, and jogging up towards me. The clothes she is wearing are the same clothes she was wearing yesterday. Dark green pants that are rolled up to just below her knees, and a light blue button up she leaves untucked at her front. It looks slept in however, as is expected, and I can see from where her sleeve is rolled up, a dark stain.

"What are you doing up so early?" She asks.

I shrug, "I didn't do it on purpose. I sort of woke up."

"I'm exhausted from that bonfire." She yawns as she says it, before she begins to undo her hair from the messy pony tail it is in. She takes the elastic between her teeth and talks through it. "I difn't ssee you there."

"I wasn't there." I answer, moving my hand up to my head. My hair is also in a ponytail, although my hair barely travels down to my neck while it's up, where hers moves almost to the bottom of her ribcage.

I watch as her hands spiral down her hair, creating a long braid on one side of her head. Her fingers move nimbly, so she must have done this before. Although, I doubt she remembers it.

When she finishes with half of her hair, she moves on to the others half. "You should've come. I had a blast, the boys here know how to party."

That may be true, but that doesn't mean I know how to party. I don't exactly know what I know anyway. All that is apparent in the morning, is that she is more radiant than the sun, and more magnetic as well.

"So what exactly is the deal around here?' I ask, watching her hands wind down to the end.

She shrugs her shoulders. "Beats me. I think today we get to choose exactly what it is we do here. There's a bunch of different jobs."

When she finishes, she looks down at her hair and lets it go. It stays in place, but threatens to untwine. My fingers rip the hair tie out of my hair, and I hand it to her. She nods, before taking it and wrapping it around the end of her braid.

"You sure you don't need it?"

I'm not sure, but it's too late now. Besides, it's not like there isn't anything here that I could use to tie up my hair in the event I need to do so.

"Are we just waiting for those other girls to wake up?" I ask, not feeling the need to answer her question.

She shakes her head. "I doubt that ginger chick is out of the lock up yet, and that tiny girl is asleep somewhere I imagine."

"Lock up?" I ask, as my head flies over to the giant concrete block. "What exactly is it that she did at the party?"

"Beat up a boy," she answers. "Pretty bad. The med-jacks had to give him stiches I heard."

"Med-jack?" I ask. Is that her funny accent?

"They heal the boys around here," she answers. "Get where the med comes from but not so much the jack. They probably know jack all is what it is."

She begins to move, and it takes a second for my feet to figure out they ought to be following her.

"She's alright though?" I demand, trying to move so I can look at the blonde. "The ginger, I mean, she is fine?"

She stops, looking me up and down. When her head cocks to the side, the long braids move along with her. She bites her lip, before a snicker leaves her mouth. A hand takes my hand, and I shake back before I can even process what is happening.

"I'm Dawn." She tells me.

Right, we don't know each other's names. I don't know the first thing about her, yet Dawn seems to be my closest ally in this whole field. The little quiet girl is more reclusive than anything, and the fiery one is a little too brutal to be trusted. From what I can tell, I'm not like either of those girls. That isn't to say I am like Dawn, but maybe that I wish I was.

"Leo," I answer.

She snickers, and her nose crinkles at that. "Right, Leo."

When she turns on her heels, I continue after her. I'm still not entirely sure where we are going, but hopefully she will be able to find some clarity in the mess.

"So, what are you looking for?" I ask.

"Man, everyone here is all questions aren't they?" She rolls her eyes, playfully shoving me sideways.

"That would explain why there aren't many answers." I remark, and she can't help but laugh.

"Well, maybe Alby will be able to provide us with one." She tells me. "He's the one in charge, right?"

I shrug, raising my hands in defense. As if I would know. He is the one who calls the shots, but that other boy, Newt, seems to be high up in their order as well. Only he isn't allowed in the maze. That Minho kid was though. They're hierarchy is all out of whack, and I can't really wrap my head around it.

"Anyway, he told me to come find him in the morning, with the others," she says, "and I am assuming by others he meant you and the tiny girl. Did you ever catch her name?"

I shake my head. "None of us caught each other's names. You are the first I managed to grasp."

"Right," she answers. "They said you were hiding them from those blokes, or whatever. Shanks? I don't really get your slang."

"It's not my slang," I mutter. "I'm just as lost as you."

Dawn pulls open the door to the house we have approached, and as I look amongst the sleeping boys outside, I don't catch an eye on the small girl, or any boy who I really recognise.

When I enter the room, my feet stop dead beneath me. There is a circle of boys in front of me, each firmly occupying a chair, and each whose head turns to stare at me. Dawn casually moves to a chair, and pats on the one next to her for me to move on it.

It takes a second for me to move forward, sitting in between her and the small girl. The flame is still gone, probably still in that prison they held us in only hours ago. Why would she go and beat up a boy?

"Glad that you are finally up." The red-faced boy remarks. "We've been waiting for you."

"I thought you'd have been out, after how you behaved last night." Dawn retorts, and a few of the boys in the circle chuckle at this.

"We aren't here to talk about the bonfire. That has already been discussed." Alby notes, trying to maintain some sort of order.

I will give that to the boys around me. Order is something they manage to maintain. Surprisingly, a group of teenagers can behave in an organised, respected system. Somehow I feel as if I'm messing up a whole way of life. As if I'm not supposed to be here.

Why am I here?

"I am not taking them on, end of story." The red boy mutters.

"Oh thank you!" Dawn sighs in relief.

Take us on? I thought we were here to pick what it is we are going to do here.

"So, like," I begin, "what is happening?"

"Did no one give them a tour?" Newt pipes in from across the circle.

Everyone looks at each other, as if they are expecting one or the other to say yes. We haven't been given a tour. I barely know where I am, let alone what is happening around me.

He stands up, rolling his eyes. "Alby, we can't expect them to pick jobs unless they know exactly what goes on in the Glade. We should reconvene after dark."

Alby looks puzzled as if realising he has left us all without any information. "Another gathering?"

"That way Minho can be there, and we can get a fair vote." Another boy pipes in.

"I don't want to come back again." Someone groans.

"Well, maybe you should let someone else be keeper in your place, shank."

"Enough," Alby says. "Let's just make a formal decision."

"On what?"

I'm the one who asks the question, and no one answers. Either because they don't know how to answer me, or because they don't want to. I doubt it is the later though, seeing as everyone seems confused.

"On if we should give you time to decide," Alby says, "and to save the time and trouble, I am going to assume we are all unanimous?"

No one speaks.

"These shanks won't last long. We might as well stick them somewhere for the meantime and wait for them to take care of themselves." The red faced boy remarks.

He is so unpleasant.

"It's just you on that Gally," Alby notes. "So we'll reconvene after dark?"

No one argues further, but no one gets up and moves.

"So, then get off to work." Alby stands up, shewing off the boys. "And I'll give these ones a tour."

Everyone is quick to get up, and I follow suit. Dawn moves from beside me, closer to Alby. I follow her, until we are in front of the boy.

"Alby, here, I'll take them," Newt says. "You should probably talk to the Gladers about the new changes that are coming."

Alby stares at Newt for a second, but the blonde boy stands firm. The leader nods, moving out with the rest of the boys.

Once they are all gone, it is Newt, Dawn, the quiet girl, and I left in the room. He smiles at me, before glancing around the room.

"So, I'd better show you around the Glade."


	7. I'm flying

6 Dawn

There's not much to the so called Glade, except grass and boys, and meters upon meters of boys and grass. Sure, there is a building or two, and a tiny forest off in the corner, but otherwise there is only walls and things blocking me from moving about.

It's compressing my lungs. Bottling me up and trying to keep me tightly wound, but that's not the kind of person I am. This body is a body where an explosion waits to happen. It's only a matter of time before these walls give up on trying to keep me together, and I go up in a cloud of fiery explosion.

"Anything interest you, Dawn?" It's that boy, Newt, and he's asking me.

My feet touch the ground again, and I nod. "Yeah, that Runner job."

He shakes his head at me, almost a laugh on his face. The grin doesn't get shared with me, and I stiffen my back, wondering what exactly he isn't telling me.

"You, Leo?"

She shrugs, as unsure as always. When she looks around, I can see the wonder in her eyes. It's a wonder I don't think I've ever seen before, and one that I don't think I've quite displayed ever.

"Maybe being a med-jack?" She shrugs. "I'm not quite sure."

"Med-jacks get a lot of free time," he notes. "Lots of people have more than one job. The gardens are also a nice place to work, I'm there a lot."

"Nothing sounds interesting." I sigh, looking up at the sky. There are no clouds, only endless layers of blue.

Somehow, even the pretty colours seem boring. Especially if I am going to be staring at them for however long I am going to be here.

"I mean, we get free time once it's dark." Newt remarks, glancing down at his watch. "Which should be here pretty soon, if this doesn't need to be wound."

When it gets dark the Runners come home, to avoid the shifting walls, and the endless night.

"Those Grievers don't scare me." The ginger yawns, reaching her hands above her head. "I might try to be a Runner myself."

She still hasn't told any of us her name, which is kind of a drag if I'm honest. Neither has the tiny girl, but I don't think she is even aware we are here. I know she can speak, because she has spoken, and every so often she does make eye contact with me. Whatever made us black out in that elevator certainly had a big effect on her.

"No, you don't just get to be a Runner," Newt tells us. "You stay here a month, and then you can get nominated. Is it just you four or all girls who have some sort of death wish?"

"I could take them," she looks at her nails, and I can't help but roll my eyes.

Yeah, I'd like to see her try. Just because I am not afraid of any damn Griever, doesn't mean I wouldn't be giving myself a death sentence to try and take one on.

"Maybe you could be a Builder," Leo suggests.

Newt tightens at this before shaking his head back and forth. "No, you wouldn't do well there. Those builders are a load of slintheads, and never mind that Gally is their Keeper."

"He's not too fond of us." Leo lets her in on Gally.

This doesn't seem to deter the girl, and a smirk only grows on her face. Of course she likes a challenges. It explains why her lip is split and her eyebrow has a rough scratch in it. I didn't see what that Runner boy did to upset her, but she certainly proved her point.

I hate him. What did they say his name was? Ben?

"Well, Gally is sort of a shank at best," Newt shrugs.

That much is true. I wish he would go away. Not only does he manage to hate me, despite never having spoken to me, he also manages to follow around all the other girls too. So it couldn't possibly be just me that he detests.

"Can we just explore on our own?" I ask Newt.

He looks taken aback for a second, before he nods. "Yeah, of course. As long as you don't cause any trouble I don't see why you wouldn't be able to."

I don't want for him to finish, or to recant his statement. Instead, I run away, further off towards a wall. I head to the one furthest from the sun, the one that lies in the bright light. The sun is nearing the ground, which means that within the next couple of minutes the Runners will be back.

If only I could get a better look.

When I finish jogging, I am staring the wall up and down. Excitement riddles my fingers, as I they itch for adventure. This place is so very dull, and if I can manage one time to find so sort of fun, this is that moment.

This time, I am going to be more precautious. I let my fingers search around for a thick vine. It takes a minute or two before I find one that I like. Quickly, I tie in around my waist. Looking around, I notice no one is watching. Everyone has left their jobs for the night, probably off to get dinner.

I am starving. Though I ate lunch today, I don't think I ever ate before that. Maybe the bonfire counts, but I don't remember much of what I ate. Everything from that night is a little fuzzy. The names of who I talked to escape me, but I do remember talking to a few of the Runners, and a Keeper or two. Even the guys who wanted me locked up were pleasant enough.

My hands grip tightly around the vines as I hoist myself up. They are very sturdy, and I wonder if when I get to the top I'll be able to see everyone. Sooner or later I am going to have to go back and pick up job, but for the time being I don't know what I want to do. Everything seems boring. Especially cooking.

Although that guy Frypan did seem to stick up for me at the meeting. He is the Cook around here, and maybe I'd like working with him.

I want to run instead.

"Hey Greenie." I look down, maybe half a dozen meters below me to see the face of none other than Minho, glancing up at me. "What's with you and climbing things that shouldn't be climbed?"

"I don't know, Maze boy," I sigh. "What's it with you and only being around when I am getting into trouble?"

He reaches some vine below me, pulling himself up. They rip out from the wall, and he falls to the ground, landing on his butt.

I laugh, biting my lip. When he looks up, he smiles and holds the end up to a thicker vine. "Maze boy, huh? Thought you'd be more creative."

"Maybe I should change your name to copier." I suggest, nodding to where he ties the plant around his waist. "Thought you thought climbing things was trouble."

He shakes his head, finally satisfied with the knot as he moves up. Instead of waiting for him, I keep climbing, hoping he will catch up quickly.

"You like to run, don't you?" He grunts, and I can hear him struggling to move up after me.

I pause, shrugging. "Only when there is someone who likes to follow."

"Well, then you've got me all shucking wrong," Minho remarks. "I lead."

I let my head slip from side to side. These shanks are going to get the better of me. Minho seems to be all quick comebacks and creasing eyes. At first I thought he was delicate, and a stickler for the rules. Up here though, away from the other Gladers, he seems to let all that he is supposed to be fall apart.

The higher from the ground we get, the less rules there are. The higher we become, the freer we are.

"You know, we are getting a little too far from the ground," he teases.

None of that matters. "What, you've never climbed the Walls, maze boy?"

"I mean, shanks have tried, but get any higher than this and the vines get thin, and they snap." He tells me. "And I would hate to see your pretty-shuck face hit the ground."

"My pretty shuck face can handle itself, thank you," I laugh. For a second I wonder if I come across as too harsh, but from his approaching face, maybe only a meter below me, I can see his smile.

"That's why you ran straight into a Griever." He smiles. His teeth are white, and seem to sparkle even in the low lighting. Something about him makes me circle in closer.

I shake my head. "It wasn't straight. It was around a corner."

He rolls his eyes, before looking back at me. We are finally at the same height, and he stares me down. There isn't much distance between us, especially since he was climbing almost directly beneath me.

From this close, I can see him. Really see him. Beneath the dirt that is on his cheeks and the sweat on his forehead. Underneath it all, the jokes and the laughter and the eye-rolling, there is kindness. It seeps out the cracks in his skin, which almost looks soft to the touch.

Mostly, I can see it in his smile. His friendliness, and his caring. Maybe he is hiding it from the world, or maybe I would just need to know what I am looking for to actually see it, but I have managed to find it.

"Did you end up finding something you want to do?" He asks me. "I mean, other than me. Job wise."

I roll my eyes, ignoring his comment. He seems to ignore it too. I look out over the Glade, staring at the grass. "I want to run."

He shakes his head at me, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. "You know, you had better not be serious."

"I think I am," I tell him. "I know you have to wait a month and all, but I would do it."

It takes him a few seconds of staring at me, to find what he is looking for. First he looks in my eyes, then down at my whole face. His mouth opens and closes no less than three times before he manages to find the words.

"It's dangerous," Minho tells me, "but if you want, I will recommend you in a month."

I look him back with equal strength. He seems restrained, like there is nothing he wants more than to not recommend me. As if that maze is a place I do not belong. I can see it through the crack, the space where he cares but doesn't like to show it.

I nod, before offering him my hand. My feet slip on the wall, and I grab a hold of him by his shirt to stop myself from falling to the Glade below.

"Maybe you should hold on," He laughs.

"Since when are you playing things safe?" I ask.

"Since yesterday at 6:45." He tells me. "Someone dared me to drink Fry's stew, and I did. I don't recommend it. Changed my life. "

A sliver of a laugh burst from me, more air than actual heart or soul. That is so very specific, I can only shake my head and look away.

"Yeah?" I ask.

He bites his lip, trying to suppress the grin that covers his face. "Yeah."

I look off into the Glade. Boys move about, closer and closer to the Homestead. It's beginning to get darker, and the sun is beginning to set completely. The sky is filled with various shades of pink and orange, shaping and carving a beautiful masterpiece before me. It's a miracle that the first sunset I ever see is one this amazing.

This is it. The adventure I have been looking for is here. Finally, I've found it only ten meters above the ground.

"It's so pretty," I manage out.

"Yeah it shucking is." His voice is more night air than actual sound, and I look over to him.

He isn't even looking at the sunset. His eyes find mine. My blush is embarrassing.

"We should get down before the walls actually start moving." Minho tells me. "Because if we are this high up and they go, we are falling. And, Greenie, the Sloppers would not do a good job of cleaning you off the ground below. Believe me, I've seen it before."

I nod, letting my hands wrap around the vine on my waist. This may be over, but the adventure is only beginning.


	8. I'm Determined

7 Michelle

"So, the gathering can be officially called to an opening."

For the first time, I sit before a circle of boys, all with smug looks and straight backs. They think they are all high and mighty, and the toughest around. Especially that tomato-faced boy, who won't make eye-contact with me as I stare him down.

When he looks over, I watch his hand flinch up to the deep purple flesh on his eye. I can't help but smirk. Didn't think my elbow would hit him so hard when he tackled me, but it's still bruised a day later.

Good.

"So normally," the one who acts like the toughest of them all begins, "we let the Greenie go around everywhere and then we pick where they go, but that doesn't seem like an option with these many Greenies in these circumstances. Any objections?"

"These circumstances?" Dawn mutters through her teeth, before the leader glares at her.

"Slim it."

The only sound is the creaking of boys in their seats, and their eyes shifting away from us. They put us all at one end of the circle, with the funny talker on the left, the brunette next to me, me in the middle, and the pipsqueak on the very edge.

"Alright, that's settled then." He sighs, looking back down the aisle at us. "We'll let them pick their placements, if that's alright."

"No," the tomato-face says. "I object to that."

"Of course you do."

"Slim it Minho. You shouldn't even be here. You aren't going to get saddled with any of them."

"I'm a Keeper just like you Gally."

"Saddled?" I lean forward in my chair. "I am not a horse."

"Slim it." Their leader repeats. I know his name, I've heard it before, but I don't particularly care to remember it. "Gally, if you end up with one of the girls, which I highly doubt anyway, you'll only have to keep them for a week trial."

"I don't want to get one either." Another boy pipes in. "No sissy girl is going to be able to handle the job of a Bagger."

"Then you'll be happy when no one chooses to work for you, right?" The leader asks. "Listen, I bet none of you here actually want one of these shanks in your group, right? Which is fair, and fine, and what not, but somebody has got to do it. Things have suddenly changed around here. ."

"We could make them their own group." Someone suggests. "Put them in charge of it."

"What would we have them do?" The funny-talking boy asks. "And who would be there keeper? We're a team."

"I don't get all this yappin'." The one who yelled at the Tomato-face sighs. "Sure, you don't want a girl in your midst, big whoop. There's already a girl in the Glade, four of them. Shanks better get used to it sooner or later, or we will be in a lot deeper klunk then we already are."

"Good that." Someone else seconds. "I wouldn't mind another hand in the kitchen. Aren't y'all always complainin' about too much work without enough help?"

"I can handle myself." The tomato-face shrugs.

"And your eye proves it," I sneer.

"Enough," the leader stands up, and all the whispering stops.

He really does own the area. Everyone seems to respect him, even if some don't seem like they want to. He doesn't seem older than any of them, and as far as I can tell he isn't in charge of anything except all of them, and I wonder how he proved himself their leader.

"Let's just ask them one by one what they would like to do, and if there are any objections, then we debate." He begins.

"I second that," the funny-talker agrees.

There is a few grumbling here and there, but no one openly objects. How he manages to hold a grip on everyone I don't know, but I can't help but find it annoying. Everyone seems to just be following their orders without even thinking about it. These 11 boys have more power than anyone else in this whole clearing, but they seem to relinquish it within seconds to the boy in front of me.

"Alright, let's start with Dawn." He points to the funny-talker, and now I realise I am going to have to learn her name.

She shrugs, as she looks at the group. "Just put me somewhere that needs help."

The boys look around each other, before one of the boys who talked earlier leans forward in his chair. "I'm Fry-Pan, I work in the kitchens. Does that interest you?"

"Why not?" She leans forward, as if she is also deciding if he is the right pick for her.

Not that any of it matters. We don't really have a choice in where we go, even if they have provided us with the illusion of power. Nothing we do here matters at all. We're still locked up no matter what job I pick, or where I work, or what I do.

"So, is that settled then?" The boy with power asks.

"You sure you want her?" The tomato-faced boy asks. "She already broke our biggest rule, day one. Ran out into the shuckin' maze without any repercussions might I add."

"Anyone who manages to outsmart you lot is someone I want on my team." The cook leans back, as he strokes his wild beard.

"I don't mind the kitchens." Dawn answers firmly, but I can tell she is lying.

"If you are going to object Gally, you had better make a recommendation." The boy funny-talker mutters.

"I already did, and you shot it down." He crosses his arms, huffing down with his back against the seat.

Good that. He finally shuts up. It is quite the miracle.

"Alright then, it would be you next." The leader addresses the next girl in line.

She pauses in her chair, looking around at the boys. Of course none of us managed to pick where we wanted to go. While Dawn did it because she lacked the perfect spot, and I did it because I don't care, she didn't out of uncertainty. As if she is struggling between two questions.

"The Med-jacks?" She asks. "If there is no objection."

I watch a boy fly up in his seat, as if he has been waking up from the longest slumber. He looks at her surprised, by smiles anyway.

"There most certainly is no objection from my part," he smiles, as if he has never had anyone want to associate with him. "We'd be happy to have you on our team."

No one else objects, which means it is on to me. The leader nods my way, and I lean back in my seat, running my thoughts over the jobs in my head. If I don't choose one, I can guarantee I will get shoved into the worst job in here. I do not want to clean up other people's messes so instead I choose to pick the only thing that sounds interesting.

"I want to be a Builder." I say.

The tomato-face roars up in his seat. "This is a riot. You're going to give the worse one to me. No way is she coming into my job. Send her somewhere else."

"Gally," the leader warns.

He is the one name Gally. How didn't I pick up on it sooner? I mean, they openly addressed him by name and everything, but I never made a connection between him and the Keeper of the Builders. I definitely do not want to work with him.

Although, he does not want to work with me either, and I can tell by the way his chest huffs up and down, and his eyes bulge out of his head. So, I have two options, switch somewhere else, or stand my ground so I can just bug him for the week before I get reassigned.

This could be interesting.

"I am not taking her," he says. "First, she punches me in the face-"

"It was an elbow." I roll my eyes.

"Then, she goes and gets into another fight with Ben, and is in the Slammer for a night. She's broken our second most important rule twice, all within the first twelve hours of her being here. Now, you want to send her on to my crew? Shuck that."

"Where else would we put her?" The funny-talking boy asks.

"Send her to the Baggers, she is brutal enough."

A boy stands up in his chair. "Brutal? She doesn't know how to follow the rules. You want her to be dragging herself off to the Slammer?"

"Send her to the bricknicks then."

"She will break everything she touches."

"Then why would we have her be a Builder?"

"I am right here." I stand up quickly, staring down the boys. The ones who are standing recoil back into their seats at my loud bark.

All of them except for Gally. He stares me down, with a scowl on his face.

"Thanks for your vote of confidence boys." I tell them. "It's not like I woke up in a strange place, with a bunch of boys who I've never seen threatening to lock me up. It's not like the first thing one did was tackle me, and then drag me off to a cell, and the second thing one did was grab me in his arms and shake me violently. There's a difference between violence and defense, and I know that difference."

"Michelle has been hostile since the beginning," Gally argues.

"I've been hostile since you've been hostile." I snap back. "Listen, I'm not asking for a clean slate or nothing. I'm just asking to be able to do a job like the rest of you Gladers do. Is that not fair?"

"Gally, if nobody else will take her-"

"She is not coming with me."

"Does anyone else object?"

This time, when everyone is silent in their seats, I know it isn't because they are fine with the pick. None of them want me. They don't want to take the violent girl into their hands and have to deal with her. Maybe they think I will beat them up, or perhaps they are worried I am a slacker, but whatever the case is I will prove them all wrong.

"This can't be happening." Gally gets up, moving out of the room. "In one week you will all regret this."

Please, in one week he will regret not having picked me in the first place. I will be damned if I let these boys think I am nothing but trouble. They may be right, but that doesn't mean I want them to think it. I am going to be the best out there, of any of the boys in my midst.

"If you are going to be a Builder," the leader begins, "there is no funny business. If there is so much as one complaint against you, you'll be banished. Understand?"

I get out of my chair, knocking it over as I stand up. Making my way towards the door, I look back for half a second. "Yeah I understand."

Not slamming the door, but choosing instead to let it close behind me on its own, I head out into the night.


	9. I'm smoking

8 Ella

There are a group of boys in muted colours, in a muted room. They are around me, but I can only seem to focus on one at a time. Otherwise, it feels like I am surrounded, and like I am being swallowed whole.

It is not an unfamiliar feeling, being swallowed whole. I am used to being on a table for dissecting, ready to be taken apart and digested. The smoke man stands in the corner of the room, writing down with his white pen on his white page. He pushes his glasses, with white frames and gridded lenses up his nose slightly, as he waits for me to act next.

Someone shakes my hand slightly, and when I look up I see their leader, who thinks his name is Alby, looking at me, with a question balancing on the tip of his tongue.

"Where do you want to go?"

I want to go back. Not back to the smoke land where I was before, but back to the place where I was before that. Not the time when I was there either, but the time before that. In the days before the sun rained down and burnt us alive, and the days before the burning in my skull began to happen.

I only know the sun rained because I saw it today, during the tour. It fell down from the sky, igniting the grass and the other girls, but no one else noticed. We were being devoured. Torn apart by the sky and the earth, and when no one screamed I realised it wasn't happening anymore.

Time is only linear because we as people experience it in a linear format. Somehow, I am the only one in our coalition to feel it all at once. It makes it hard to tell what is happening and what has happened. Maybe I am seeing what is yet to come, although I highly doubt it. Things seem unfamiliar, but that is what the present is.

It is the shock of being thrown in an ice bath every time I breathe.

"Hello?"

There are no words in me, they are stuck in the past.

"She doesn't speak much."

That is not true. I would speak all the time if the smoke man wasn't listening. Even when I don't see him, I can feel his ear compressing the Glade. I saw it in a bug today. It was listening.

"What's her name?"

"I don't remember it."

The smoke man seems angry at this, but I'm not lying. He took my name and stole it from me. This is not the first time he stole it from me either, he had already taken it from me before. Shocked me so hard I could not remember up from down, nor left from right, and all that there was, was a room.

All I remember if the sun's rain, and this man, and that room. There is more, and I'm still trying to grasp it, but it is hard with him hanging off of me like a loose thread. It is hard with any of them here.

"We all get a name."

"You are sure you don't remember it?"

I try as hard as I can, searching the clouds that have seeped into the room for it, but the smoke man continues to smile, and I want to beg him for it, but I will not bend to him again. He may be smiling, but I know I've won. He didn't want me here, but here I am anyway. If he wants to fight me, let him fight.

"They took it from me." I tell them.

I don't tell them they took it from them too, because they won't believe me. That, and they will lose hope if they know the truth.

I can hear his pen clicking against his clipboard, as he waits for me to move and react.

"Who are they?"

My mouth opens to speak, but I can't swallow air, it feels like I am suffocating, and my head is about to burst. They are stopping the truth. They should've stopped me earlier, and now I have ruined their whole game. The clock is ticking as fast as his pen is clicking, and they don't have time to mend what we have done.

They didn't account for me.

When I close my mouth, the choking stops. They can stop me from telling the truth, but they can't stop it. Truth has a funny way of always coming out, and I am nothing if not patient in the face of adversary.

"I don't know."

It is a lie, but one that is temporary. If I could get back to the Glade, I could explain it. I could tell them the truth, and they would know what is happening, and everything would be fine. For now, it isn't fine, and I am drowning. They will be drowning too, very soon. All we have to do is wait a few more minutes.

Or maybe longer, I can't really tell. I don't really know. Maybe this all was a mistake.

He takes off his grid glasses, and I know the smoke man has perfect vision. Why does he use them?

"What job do you want?"

They don't get it. The job I pick doesn't matter, because I have joined the symphony seconds before the final movement. There were only two after all, the first one and last one. The first was has been going on since Alby came to the Glade, and the second one has yet to begin. I wouldn't recognise its tune, but I know its downbeat starts with whatever comes next.

I will know what comes next when it arrives. Nobody else gets it, but I get it. All the puzzle pieces are falling into place, but I will not know what it is until it all comes together. The difference between me and the rest is that I know there is a puzzle.

Unfortunately, I am too wrapped up in a puzzle to see the people around me.

"Answer him Ella."

I would tell the smoke man I don't care about my job, but that would make him angry. He gets angry very easy, and I never have the answer he wants to hear. The truth will always be set free, and I am a part of it. It's my responsibility to help these people.

I don't care about responsibility.

"Is she even awake?"

"She was like this during the tour too."

"Will anybody just take her on so we can call this meeting to a close?"

There are face, that are foggier than the smoke man, and I want to call for help, but I can't. He watches, and he listens, but most of all he is omnipresent. There is nowhere to hide from him, not even in the clouds. I am bare for him to stare at, as of now.

"I'll have her."

Soon enough, the world will swallow us up whole again, and I will be lost in the darkness. It has been a long day, coming from a long lifetime of years and minutes all spread out on a blanket. I am swallowing them all at once, and that is not how people are supposed to experience time. If I don't slow down, I will implode on myself.

"If there is no objections, we will do the oaths. Then the Gathering will be closed. Can someone go get that ginger?"


	10. I'm Searching

9 Leo

I think we are all supposed to be settled now that the oaths are done, but I am not. Michelle has already disappeared, slamming the door behind her again. Everyone else has managed to dissipate amongst the crowd of boys. There is no party planned for tonight, although there is a fire near the Homestead I can sit by.

"Hey." I see one of the boys off in the distance jog towards me. "So, you're going to be the new Med-jack?"

I nod, and I am about to say something before he continues.

"That's what Clint was telling me." He nods, looking around for the other boy and surprised when he doesn't find him. Clint must be the leader, although I've got no idea where he is. "I am Jeff, by the way."

He sticks his hand out towards me, and I find a smile on my face. Jeff and Clint don't look at me the way a lot of the other boys do. They always are sizing me up, either trying to figure out what to make of me or how to make me. I can't help but find it entirely unsettling.

"I'm happy he nailed you." Jeff says, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me forward. "Not that your friends are... you know, but you aren't... you know?"

I don't quite understand what he is getting at, but I nod anyway. It's easiest if I pretend to understand him, and I'm not sure what else I can do.

"You'll like being a med-jack." He tells me. "At least I think you will. I don't really know much about you, but I take it you don't know anything about me, or anything about anything either. And that isn't a knock on your intelligence; you're a greenie, and greenies are ignorant to everything around them. Before you argue, it's definitely true and there is no way around it."

Sure, I guess. At first I thought maybe I just wouldn't talk, but Jeff seems very keen on talking. And he continues to do it.

"I mean, we haven't had a greenie med-jack in ages. Which is nice, you know nice. Just me and Clint for the longest. And I do mean the longest, about a year I would say. Clint's been here longer, since the beginning group anyway. But that doesn't matter I don't think. Why would it to you anyway, you're a Greenie?"

"I have a name" I throw the words in, finally finding a break.

"Well, of course you have a name, all of us do. Except for that one girl who says she doesn't know it. But since you're new you are a Greenie, like all the other Greenies. That is actually quite confusing after all, you know. I don't imagine you know why you all came up in a group, but that sort of klunk doesn't happen, you know. It's always the same, day in and day out."

I guess so. It's only been a day I've been here, so I wouldn't know anything about regularity. It all seems the same, and it all feels the same. There is nothing, and I actually mean nothing, that I am familiar with. Familiarity as a concept seems so foreign to me.

"So, tomorrow we will train you. If you'll meet us at the crack of dawn, then we will get right down to business."

He lets go of me, back off for a second.

"Good that?"

"Good that." I answer, with a smile spreading across my face.

He turns and runs away, further off into the Glade, and I can't help but shake my head. Jeff is many things, all of which are odd and confusing, but he makes me laugh all the same. Or maybe I should say he makes me try not to laugh.

I'm closer to the Homestead, and the fire that burns right by it. Tonight it is smaller, but just as warm. If anything, it feels cozier and much, much more comfortable.

"Hey," I can hear Dawn's voice ring across the field. "It's Leo, now isn't it?"

She sits on a log, another glass in her hand. It's full of a different liquid than that from last night, since this one is much clearer, and doesn't give her laugh the same lightness it had before. It's sober.

"Yeah, my name is still Leo." I try to joke, but it comes out more sarcastic than I want it to. "What have you been up to?"

She shrugs, handing the glass off to the Keeper of the Cooks beside her, before coming up to me. She wraps her hand around my wrist, before dragging me off towards the rest of them.

"We've just been hanging out. Relax, you're always so uptight."

Am I? I don't even know my own last name, let alone if I am uptight or not. Maybe I am, but I think there is a line between being uptight and being cautious. I am absolutely one of those two things, but not both of them.

I shrug, as she pulls my down on to the log next to her, between her and the Cook. Her hair is down, so far that it nearly reaches her hips, and I can see her hair tie, as well as mine, on her wrist.

"So, how are you liking the Glade so far?" Minho asks, who is sitting on the other side of her.

I shrug again. It seems as though all I am is a series of shrugs, and a lot of confusion. The longer I sit here, the more I realise I don't have any answers.

"Am I supposed to have any feelings towards it?" I ask. "It's all I've ever known, so I can't tell if it's good or bad."

"Good that." Fry-Pan shakes his head, before taking a drink out of Dawn's cup. "The Greenbean gets it."

"She'd be a shank not to." She shoves me playfully, as I stare into the flames of the fire.

I'm still not entirely sure what a shank is either, but Dawn seems to have herself entirely figured out. Knowing what you want is the first step, and knowing who you are is the next. It seems she has both answers nailed down. I can't even find a hammer.

"Who says she's not a shank anyway?" Minho's voice is just as playful as Dawn's, and I roll my eyes at the both of them as they speak.

I don't think I am a shank, given my loose idea of what the word means. Though it could mean a whole bunch of things given the variety of context it is used. If I asked what it meant, I'd definitely be a shank then. At least, I think I would.

"So you ready for tomorrow?" The Cook leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees. "Things should be getting back into the swing of things by then."

"You're kidding, nothing is going to be getting back into the swing of things," Minho argues.

From across the fire, I can see people moving off and away. It's not that late, but it looks as if everyone around here is awfully tired. Maybe the high from our arrival is wearing down, and the dreariness of the Glade is setting in on them. It can't be too awful, although it doesn't seem as if it would be too perfect.

"It'll never be the same again, not with girls here, and not with Alby being about to announce a shift in the rules."

"A shift in the rules?" I ask, tuning in and out of the conversation.

In the shadows I can see Alby talking to Newt. Neither of them are laughing, and with darkness over their faces it's hard to see if they are serious or if they are just talking. Although, I get the feeling it is the former from the way Alby's legs are stiff as they move further towards the map room, and from the way Newt pauses, before turning away and heading towards the Deadheads.

"Yeah, he will be announcing it tomorrow when everybody gets up." Minho continues. "Wake up call is going to be very, very early for you non-Runners."

"Not for me." I can hear the Cook's laugh, but I'm still looking for Newt's shadow as it darts into the forest.

Is that why he looks so solemn?

My feet move up beneath me before I even decide I am going somewhere. "I'll be right back."

If anyone says good bye to me I don't hear it. Instead, my feet are pounding off quickly into the forest.

It's darker than I thought it would be. Not as dark as the Box, but nothing is as dark as the Box. In here, I can hear my own breathing and my feet moving off the dirt. It is not exactly all the way on the opposite side of the Glade as the Homestead, but it definitely is not close. My breathing is heavy from the running, and while I can tell I'm not out of shape, I most certainly am not in shape.

"Newt?" I call out, moving deeper into the forest. "Are you in here?"

It's a large space, so I am not surprise when he doesn't answer.

My feet move along the ground, further in the trees. Sliding around the corner and the wet dirt, I manage to stay on my feet. The bark holds me up, as my hands wrap around it and I peer through the dark space.

"Newt?"

I move from tree to tree, twisting and wrapping around them until I couldn't tell you where I came from let alone which way to go for me to get out.

Something bumps into me from behind, and I spin around on my feet at the sharp gasp.

"Who's there?"

"Leo," I spin around, and though I can barely see him in the dim lighting, I know it is Newt. "What are you doing in here?"

He shrugs, "I could ask you the same thing."

What am I doing in here?

I back up away from him when I realise we are incredibly close together. His breath is warm, and so is his skin despite the cool night air. Why isn't he cold? I am freezing.

"I hadn't been here before, and I saw you walk in here." I tell him.

He nods, looking around the forest. "I don't know."

What doesn't he know? Everything? Because it feels like I don't know anything, let alone everything. There are so many questions, I couldn't tell you which one I should ask first. They all seem equally valid at any point in time.

"You are the second-in-command here, right?" I ask, waiting for confirmation from him.

He nods, "yeah, that's right."

"I heard there is a new rule Alby is introducing tomorrow." I tell him.

He backs away from me, and his feet slip in the muddy ground. He manages to catch himself on the tree to his left, steadying himself before he stands up and looks at me. "Yeah, that's right. I can't tell you what it is though. We've got to wait until Alby announces it tomorrow."

That seems awfully fair. Almost entirely fair actually. Entirely awful as well. Though I still have more questions floating around my head. "What were the rules before?"

"There are three." He tells me, moving past me and gesturing for me to follow. When I reach his side he steps off further away from me. "The first rule is do your part. It's why it was so important to find you four jobs as soon as we could. Before you arrived, solving the Maze was the most important thing. I mean, it still bloody is, but now jobs feel less important."

"The second?" I ask, tripping on a root.

He reaches out to catch me, but in the process trips himself and we both hit the ground.

"Are you alright?" He props himself up on his hands, to look at me next to him.

I nod my head in confirmation. It's hard to see, and it doesn't seem like I am very good at pay attention to the things around me. Regardless, I take his hand and he helps me up.

When I stand up, I realise he is taller than me. Quite a few inches too, and it isn't because the ground isn't flat. His hair is blonde, but barely blonde at the same time, though it is difficult to tell in the lighting.

He lets go of my hand quickly, backing up from me.

"Right," he looks at his feet, before he continues walking. "The second rule, is don't hurt another Glader. There's only been three banished, and we almost were going to banish your friend Michelle back there for doing it, but we let her off since she didn't know."

Michelle is hardly my friend. I haven't said more than a sentence to the girl in all the time we've known each other. Technically, I'm closer to this complete stranger than her.

Although, she is also a complete stranger.

"What's the third rule?" I'm trying to divvy up my attention between him and the ground, but the ground is winning.

"The third rule, is never go in the Maze." He tells me. "The only reason we know to exist is to solve that Maze, but we don't let people in. It's too dangerous. The Runners are an exception."

I don't think I am going to have a trouble operating within this framework. There's not a single bone in my body that wants to go in that Maze, and I'm not particularly violent to begin with. Working isn't going to be hard for me to do either, so I don't think I will have any problems.

"And the fourth?"

We are at the edge of the forest now, about to step out.

"The fourth-"

"Newt."

It's hard to see, but it is Alby calling out to him.

"Yeah?" He asks, moving closer to the boy, and I follow him out of the forest.

"I forgot about one thing we've got to discuss." Alby calls back.

"I'll be right there." Newt answers, before turning back to face me. "Sorry, I've got to go."

He apologises way too often, I notice. I reach for him but hold my fingers back inches from his skin. "What's the fourth rule?"

"Come on Newt."

Newt's face tightens, as he give me one last look, before turning towards Alby. He shuffles forward, looking at me over his shoulder.

"I will talk to you tomorrow."


	11. I'm surprised

10 Dawn

"Wake up."

I groan, and my first instinct is to simply say "no."

The boy above me laughs, and takes me by the arms. I find myself being lifted off the ground, even though I am barely awake at all. I don't dare crack my eyes open though. Thoroughly, I am exhausted.

"Alright," Minho plops down next to me, lying in the grass. He doesn't seem to mind that the grass is wet.

Something tickles my nose, and I swat it away, but it comes back. I open my eyes, to see Minho feathering me with a blade of grass. I snatch it from his hand.

"You could be a Runner," he notices. "If you weren't so keen on sleeping in."

I ignore him, turning my back away from him. A smile secretly plays on my face. I can't help it. He has this weird charm too him. Even when he isn't as funny as he thinks he is, my cheeks can't help but turn red.

"Come on Dawn." Minho gets up off the ground. "It's already dawn."

I would be rolling my eyes if they weren't closer tightly. I let a giggle escape out my lips, but I am not happy about it.

My body spins into the air, and suddenly I am wide-awake. Not only are my eyes wide open, but my heart is pounding in my chest rapidly, as I feel myself being flung through the air. He has me hanging over his shoulders.

"Put me down!" I try to sound firm, but my voice come out as a laugh as I see myself swinging over Minho's back. "Who do you think you are?"

His head shakes against my waist, and I kick my arms trying to escape his grip. "Sorry what? I can't hear you over this annoying shrieking in my ear."

I roll my eyes. He is absolutely ridiculous. "Would you quit it Maze Boy?"

"You know, people ask me that every day, and every day I find myself continuing on," he tells me, sighing. "Besides, I don't particularity mind having you this close to me."

"You're a pig," I roll my eyes, but a smile lurks on my face. I really hope he is only this flirty with me.

"I will drop you if you actually want me to," I can feel his smirk, as if it comes off in waves. "You just have to tell me."

I can't. Biting my tongue, I remain silent. Part of me hopes he doesn't notice, though the rest of me hopes he does.

Loosening, I feel myself shrug down off of him. He puts a finger to his lips, winks, and darts past me. I spin on my feet, following the Runner deeper into the Glade, rounding around the corner of the Homestead until we are in plain view of the Box.

He doesn't give me a second to catch up to him, as he speeds off ahead. It's a struggle to come close to where Minho stands, and I barely make it next to him by the time we reach the crowd, surrounding the place I first came.

Alby is the middle, standing on a chair and staring out at the rest of us.

"Alright, so things are different shanks." He opens the conversation, looking at Minho and I heaving. We must be the last to arrive.

"I know it's been hard since Nick died, but things have changed, and we need to adapt." He continues, glancing over the Gladers until he finds me.

I've never seen it this quiet. The sound of the silence rings in my ears, and I wait for one of the boys to call out or laugh, but no one does. They all listen, which is what keeps me listening firmly.

"So, we are adding a new rule, givin' certain developments." He says. "These new girls, no one touches 'em. Not until we figure out why the Creators sent them up in that shuckin' Box. Anyone looks at 'em funny, and they'll be spendin' the night with the Grievers. No exceptions. Got it?"

What?

When I look around, I notice Minho has disappeared into the ground. Right from beneath me, he is gone. A few boys shift away around me, and I can't help but feel myself stiffen.

"This is a load of klunk." I shout out. "I'm not a porcelain doll."

Alby stares me down. "No exceptions."

It's not a challenge, it is an order. It feels ridiculous though. There is no way I am going to sit around and be told what to do by a boy who doesn't even know me. I am not fragile, and certainly not delicate either. If he is worried about someone breaking me, or something else, he's got it all wrong.

I march off away from the crowd, back towards the Homestead. There's no reasoning to this. It is ridiculous at best, and dangerous at worst.

By the time I reach the door, I rip it open, slamming it behind me. My feet run up the stairs, and make their way up to a bedroom. That door gets slammed too, as I collapse on to the unmade bed of whoever slept in here before me.

I've never been upstairs in this place before. Didn't even realise people slept in here. Who knows, maybe this is Alby's bed and he'll have to banish himself for getting this close to me.

"You ran out of there pretty quick," Newt remarks.

I get up, spinning around to see him. He hangs off the doorframe, but doesn't step in the room.

"What, too bloody afraid to come in?" I ask, throwing a pillow at him.

He ducks out of the way. "No."

"Afraid since I am a girl, and I am in a bed you are about to get banished?" I demand, sitting up as the blankets lift up around me.

"I am not going to get banished." He answers, and this time he moves into the room. "You have to understand-"

"That you are trying to compress us?" I stand up, and the bed creaks as I get off of it. "'Cause suddenly girls show up, and none of you can keep it in your pants? Just 'cause I am a girl, doesn't mean I am about to-"

"Alby is only trying to do what is best." Newt looks at me.

I don't see how that is relevant at all. Not even slightly, honestly. Because the thing is, it doesn't matter if he is doing what he think is right. What matters is him not wanting me to touch anyone else. As if I am somehow poisonous. I am not Michelle.

"The shuck has that got to do with this?" I ask. "That doesn't bloody matter. I am not a contagious disease."

"You aren't, no." Newt continues, moving closer to me. "It isn't to protect the boys from you, or even that ginger. It's to protect you from them."

"I am not a bloody flower!" My voice tears down the walls as I stare Newt down.

He doesn't back off. "Of course you aren't, but do you realise how complicated this situation is now? We live on the constant verge of death, and one blink and we are on the wrong side. With you four in the picture, we have to consider a whole new picture."

"Just because we are girls-"

"Just, here me out." He raises his hands in defense, and I realise I am still heaving. My breath hasn't seized to break out of me in violent waves, and there is nothing I can do to stop it.

"Fine."

He sighs, limping over on to the bed. He sits down, and stares at me.

I move next to him, fiddling with my hair as I wait for him to talk. Today, I decide upon putting two high buns in my hair, above both of my ears. Everyday I've managed a new style. Seems pointless, but it seems to be the only thing I can control about my own body with Alby rampaging.

"With you here, there is a lot that can happen." He tells me. "What happens when boys like Ben attack you like he did Michelle, because they are out of it? What happens if you get with someone and then it doesn't work out? Or when you find out a boy has been two timing you? Boys could get into fights over you, because like you said, "the slintheads can't keep it in their pants". Or heaven forbid one of you gets pregnant. Then where are we? I am not raising a baby Glader. There's too many things that could go wrong if a boy gets involved with you, and most of them have nothin' to do with you."

He has a point, even if it's wrong. The Gladers are constantly preparing for the worst, and it is so bad that they are missing the adventure before us. Bad things only happen if you expect them. Otherwise, it is just a journey with ups and downs.

"We are fine." I tell him, and he stands up, moving away from me.

"I'll have to trust you on that." He tosses a glance over to me as he walks backwards out of the room. "Besides, I am not one to tattle if anyone does end up breaking the rules."

I raise my eyebrows, and a smile slides out my mouth as well as a burst of air. "Are you insinuating what I think you are?"

"Depends on what you're thinking." Moving down the stairs, I follow him out and into the Glade.

"Newt," I manages the words straight, but he can't take me seriously since I am stuck between shock and laughter, "I'm not about to break the rules."

"About too? You already broke the most important one." He throws over his shoulder. "And I imagine you'll break the rest before we leave."

I can't believe him, but I manage to laugh anyway. When he winks, I just shake my head, before looking up to the sky.

Rules don't really matter to me, but they seem to matter to everyone else here. Especially the leader, who doesn't seem like someone who would defend me if I was about to kicked out of their place. I need to stay in line, even if I don't care to. Even if I want to break the rules so badly. Unfortunately, I've got to do things the hard way.

But when I see Newt's smirk, I think maybe I don't have to.

"Dawn, what are you doing?"

I spin on my heels, to see Frypan waving at me from further down the field.

When I turn, Newt is walking off, and I take it our conversation is over.

"Come on, we've got food to cook." He calls out to me.

Right, that's what I'm supposed to be doing.

I take one last glance at the Walls that surround me, before heading off towards Frypan.

When I catch up to him, he is already walking into a tiny wooden house, next to a bunch of animal pens. He leaves the door open for me to follow in behind him.

Inside, it's not what I expect. Frypan's kitchen contains the opposite of what I expect. There are fancy appliances, like a microwave and a fridge, which I thought would not exist up here. However, it is empty except for Frypan and me.

"Is it just us?" I ask.

He nods. "Yeah, actually it is right now. Some days I have boys help out, but others I don't. Today there is a huge project with the Builders, which means I've lost them for the morning."

That makes sense, I imagine at least. "So, what is it I can do?"

"Wait," he leans down against a chair in the center, and begins stroking his beard. "Breakfast is easier than any other meal. The Track-hoes bring over the greens, and the slicers brought over the meat last night, which is already heating up in the oven. Lunch will be chaos though, so get ready for that."

Chaos doesn't seem all that bad. Nothing I can't handle anyway. This Glade has nothing on me, nor do any of the boys here.

"You know, are you sure you don't know-"

The smoke alarm on the ceiling goes off, and I look up staring at it. The red light flashes, and the high-pitched buzz snaps in my ear. I reach up to place a hand over my ears as I groan.

"Would you turn that bloody thing off?" I ask, cracking my eyes open.

Frypan is already up, opening the oven door. Smoke pillows out, and I cough as I wipe my way through the cloud, trying to see inside. He is standing in the way, and he grabs an oven mitt off the top of the counter, reaching a hand inside, and throwing something out on the ground.

It is the entire head of a pig.

I cough, as I continue to wave through the fog. "You guys eat the head?"

"No," he shuts the door, but the alarm continues to go off. "This must be somebody's idea of a prank. Good for them, now those shanks aren't eating until lunch."

The smoke continues to strangle my lungs. That's some sick idea of a prank.


	12. I'm annoyed

11 Michelle

My stomach burns, but so does my skin from where the sun touches it. There isn't any sunscreen here, nor are there sunglasses, and when I scrunch my eyes to see, I can feel my skin pulling apart. Maybe being a Builder wasn't the best idea.

It's not like it particularly matters. I've been hammering in planks of wood to make walls practically since the sun rose. Now, it is so high in the sky it has almost sunk, and this new addition to the Homestead is no closer to being done than when we started.

I roll up the sleeves of my shirt, as I struggle to hammer in the end of the plank. Not because I'm not strong enough, I'm plenty strong. I'm also plenty exhausted. Is this what it is going to be like every day in the Glade?

It doesn't help that I can feel his gaze on me. That tomato boy continues to stare at me. Eyes linger on my shoulder, following down my spine until they hit the ground beneath my feet. I wonder what it must be like for him to sit back and bite his tongue while I press my hands against his structure. It seems like they have been working on it for weeks, but the wood is still flimsy.

It is light weight, like I don't know. A plank of wood that isn't heavy? I am not very good at metaphors.

You know, the wood is bending so easily I could probably snap it in my fingers. Just a little pressure, or a tilt of the hammer head, and the entire frame would be reduced to nothing but splinters littering the ground. It would be easy, and it would make a point.

Is that the point I want to make? As much as I dislike Gally, and am content to have him dislike me back, I know I shouldn't. There is a voice inside me, one I barely listen to, and don't particularly care about, that is telling me to stay on my toes. I will listen to it. Not for any reason, at least not one I am aware of.

The longer he stares, the less I want to adhere to that promise. Barely anyone has gotten any work done today. They've been too busy staring at me, and dropping things like themselves left and right. It's a surprise that this space has any boys left at all. Smart is not something I would use to describe any of the boys here.

In fact, I wouldn't even use that to describe any of the girls.

"Gally, are we going to break for the night or what?" Someone I don't care to even look up to asks.

The boys doesn't answer, or maybe he does and I've just gotten better at tuning him out. When the other boys let go of the construction, I figure he agreed to the break.

"Or what." He spits.

I roll my eyes. He certainly thinks he is tough. What is he supposed to be anyway, some shape or form of leader? All he has is a team of idiots following him around, who have all managed to injure themselves at least once today.

"Soon the sun will set." Someone else calls.

"And when it does, then you can be done." I can hear the smirk on his lips though I can't see them.

Why did I sign myself up for this? Being a Builder all day in the sun didn't even sound exceptionally appealing to begin with, and I can't seem to fathom why I was I chose to work for this nut job. At the beginning, it was just so that I wouldn't have to clean the bathrooms, or the Bloodhouses. At that meeting though, as soon as he objected it, suddenly I really wanted to be a Builder.

In retrospect, I don't know why I thought this would be better to the alternative, and I don't know why I fought for it so hard. All I do know is those boys are going to regret not trusting me, as well as shoving me off into a corner. I am powerful, and not just a problem.

Someone trips, and I can hear the structure cracking before me. When I look up, it's just to the left of me that he fell into the wood. It doesn't just crack; it concaves and splits entirely. The whole frame shakes and shatters, before falling towards him. Falling towards me.

I am up on my feet as I feel a hand pulling me back. The wood tumbles on to the Earth, as does all the work we put into it today.

Not like it matters anyway. If the frame was that unsteady, it's good it fell now, instead of when someone was building the roof. Still, these incompetent boys can't manage to keep anything together, much less this new addition.

I tug my arm out of the boy holding on to me, and he doesn't recoil. Who does he think he is? Fear should riddle his eyes, instead he only stares at me still.

"I'm David." He smiles the name at me, and I wait for the look to tumble off his face.

It doesn't, but he does break eye contact, looking down at the ground.

Right, David. I will not remember that name. Nor would I even want to. I have been trying to forget Gally's name all day, but it hasn't escaped from me yet since. Unfortunately I think it is going to stick with me for a while.

When he glares at me, I wait for him to bark and shout as if this is my fault. Instead, he grinds his hand into a tight fist, and turns to glare down the boy responsible for the crash. He says nothing, and neither does anyone else.

I get the feeling this happens often. The building and rebuilding of the same room, only for it to come crashing down. The clearing is supposed to be a place of order. Everyone has and does their own part, an efficient, well-oiled machine.

As it would seem, the Builders are a little clumsy, and a very outdated piece of technology. This does not seem like it is an isolated incidence.

No one is hurt, except for a few scraps and cuts. Half the boys brush it off and the other half go up to the Med-jacks to get themselves fixed and stitched back together. No amount of bandages can fix this building, and no amount of boys could either, between the brain cell this collective shares, and the sun that slowly sinks deeper into the clouds.

"Don't just stand around." Gally's pestering voice reads my thoughts. "Fix it."

No one disobeys, but they all move slowly around me to pick up the planks. They are nothing but puppets, and Gally seems to be very good at using his hands to make others do things. His voice is hypnotic, but I am deaf.

It doesn't matter though, because I shuffle forward and kneel on the ground anyway.

In this moment, my hand wraps tighter around the planks before me, and I heave. There is a time and a place to fight, and it is in the time my heart pumps loudly through my ears, and my fingers begin to twitch. Sure, I have been building all day, but exhaustion fills and powers me forward, burning me up and filling my muscles until they ache for a fight.

I am off the ground and turned around when he stares me down. His tomato-face looks over-ripe, and his eyebrows somehow more crooked than usual.

"Yeah, were done." He breaks away from me to address his men, but maintains his broad stance and his harsh gaze.

A few move around him, dropping their things, but I only let my attention fall on the leader, whose shoulders shake as he cracks his neck. It's quick and loud, and for a second I think he has broken a bone in his body.

He turns away from me, stalking farther forward to the Homestead. He realises I am following him before I realise I am following him. He shoots me daggers over his shoulder, before spinning around violently and knocking me back.

"Can't leave me alone for a second?" He demands. "What is your deal?"

Nothing is my deal. I begin to move off the ground before he shoves me back down with the heel of his boot. My hands wrap around his shoe, dragging him down with me, and he lands in a huff on the ground.

"Don't touch me," he spits, "especially if you don't want me to go tell the council and get you banished."

"You think I care what the council thinks?" I retort, crossing my arms from where I sit. "Your whole leadership is built off nothing. It doesn't make any sense."

He scoffs, looking away before glancing back. "Yeah, sure thing slinthead."

"I am serious." I pull myself off the ground.

Their whole system is full of rules that don't have any place here. It's all about rules, and all about order. Well, there is no point to order. Trapped in a Maze, there is no society to come and tell us what to do. There is no right or wrong, only living. Why do we choose to do our part in a system that doesn't matter? Structure confines us. It breaks and bends, molds people into clay shapes they aren't meant to be.

Here before me is a statue, frozen in front of me on the ground. Beneath that, there must be a boy somewhere. He must remember what freedom tasted like, and I wonder if he ever licked his lips to try to get it back even for a moment.

Maybe, if I wasn't so busy hating all that he stood for, I would try to feed him freedom again. However, he has been nothing but terrible, and I am more salt than sugar.

He rolls his eyes, before he gets up off the ground. "You know, you've got a lot to learn Greenie."

"I've got a name." I frown.

"One that doesn't matter." He turns around and heads off. For a second, I think he won't come back, but he turns around to stare at me again. "You know, you aren't important here. It's not all about you."

I snort out my nose. "So what, it's all about the group?"

He smiles. "No. It is all about me."


	13. I'm small

12 Ella

It is darker out than usual. It makes the white seem black, so in a way everything becomes clear. In the night, it is so dark that I can see past the haze, and past the smoke man, and here. It's why I could breathe in the lift, and it is why I can breathe here.

They don't want to me to breathe. At least, not when they can't monitor it. Here, I forget all about them, and I don't even know if I wanted to forget. Sure, there are memories to tap out and weed through, but my mind is blank, and my hands have lost my shovel.

The blonde boy with the fake name and the fake smile took back my shovel before we ate dinner. It's easier without the smoke surrounding and suffocating me, but I do not wish to live a life of ignorance. My best interest is in finding out the truth, once and for all.

If not me, no one will. There isn't a person around here who seems to care as much as I do. I need to save them, but my shoes are filled with boulders, and I am very small.

The smoke man may be gone, but I can feel him waiting. As soon as the sun rises, the light will shine through his grey ghost, and he will be staring at me again. I am surrounded by walls, and I have been since I woke up. Not the ones you can see, but the ones you can't. They hold me to the ground, and they hold me to the shovel, and they hold me to this place.

The white is gone, and I can see the stars. Like our fake names, I know they are not real. Stars have power, and fire and burning. These are dull, and ache away at my skull as I stare at them. Maybe I will never know if anything is real. It certainly feels like I am not.

"Hey."

She is calling to me, with her blonde hair and her blue shirt. The other boy has the same shirt, and the same smirk, but he doesn't notice anything past her. Somehow she is real, but everything she sees and feels is fake.

One of us is moving closer to the other one, and I can't tell if it is her or if it is me, but like magnets we circle closer together, until there is no distance nor any time between us. She speaks to me, but the words circle around my ears and bypass my mind altogether.

If the smoke man is not here, it seems I am lost. We cannot exist one without the other, but I am trying to speak even though I can feel my shoes sinking into the ground, and my ears being swallowed up by the tall grass.

"So you liked the Gardens?"

"Yes." The Gardens are nice. The ground is thicker, so it is harder to sink, and there I can dig around looking for answers that I wouldn't find otherwise. Now, however, I can't seem to escape nor seem to push through the earth and find what I am looking for.

Am I looking for myself in this jungle? What is my name?

"Oh Ella."

When I spin around, his voice only echoes. I can't see him in the dark, but he is still there. White doesn't burn to black in the absence of the informed. It simply maintains its dull awful colour, but becomes near impossible to see. In this light, I am blind.

Which makes me more vulnerable.

"Zart is a bit off, isn't he?" The fake boy asks, and the girl hits him playfully.

There is a universe between their eyes. Though it is dark, I can tell that in the light they can see through the smoke and find each other. Because behind it all, though they do not know themselves, they know each other.

Tied together like balloons floating in the wind, by a frail blue ribbon ready to snap at the slightest touch. Though we are all held together flimsily, they choose not to cling on to each other for dear life. They don't know what is going to happen. They don't know we are in life or death circumstances.

I should tell them.

The smoke man doesn't object, but I can feel his breath on my shoulder. If I shrug him off, he will just bring me closer. There is no escaping from such a man, with worse intentions than anyone I have ever met.

"Did you grab dinner?"

Did I grab breakfast?

I don't think I remember the last time I ate something. Water passed by my lips the whole morning in the gardens, but never food.

That is something I should go do. The two are too wrap up in each other to notice that I am slipping away. I manage to sneak out from between the blades of grass, and crawl my way out and over to where the food is.

I take an apple, and bite it. It's warm and hard, and everything good that I imagine should happen when you bite an apple, doesn't. There is no juice, no sweet taste or cold tingle. There is only a hard piece of fruit in my mouth that I chew and swallow. It scrapes down my throat and so does the next bite, and the next, until the apple core is in the compost bin.

The apple is grey and fake too. There is nothing here that is real, not even myself. We are all fake and figments of our own imaginations. Why can't I know my own name? It seems nothing can belong to us. We are just used and taken and stolen again and again, until there is nothing left except bodies that now have no titles. They have made us swim in a sea of John Does.

When I look across the field, I can see the brunette. She is sitting on a log, talking to the one that is their leader. It seems serious, but there I nothing to be serious, because there is nothing.

He is faded but she has colour. Unlike the apple, her shirt is green and bright, and tucked into her dark pants. The blonde's blue shirt was tinted grey by the presence of the washed out boy beside her, but in turn he was tinted blue. The colour is being sucked away and stolen from them by the second.

I do not see the other girl, and I do not know her colour. She seems like the kind to be tinted grey as well. The longer we stay, the more our colour will wash out on to the masses. I wonder if I even have any colour to me.

Hope is something I cannot maintain in a colourless Glade. It seems as though every single fraudulent star is fighting against me and everyone else. Patience is something that I have. If I want to, I can wait and wait and wait for days and months and years to get the truth. Believe me when I say however, it will surface soon.

All it takes is an earthquake to shake the secrets out of the dirt. And I am nothing if not ground-breaking.


	14. I'm discovering

13 Leo

Being a Med jack is significantly less work than I had assumed it would be. Surprisingly among dozens upon dozens of boys, none of them require medical assistance. When I woke up this morning, I had expected that today we would not be doing inventory, as that is all we had managed to do yesterday. Unfortunately, I was wrong to assume that.

"There are five syringes of grief serum," I tell Jeff, peering through the cupboard.

"Five?" He asks from behind. "Did you double check?"

"This will be the third time today I've double checked." My voice is low and muffled by the wood of the cabinets, and I'm glad he doesn't seem to hear me.

I can't tell if that's too snarky. It's not very often someone gets to decide who they are, and since I have only just begun to exist, I have been presented with that opportunity. Am I quiet and withdrawn like the little girl? Or am I brash and angry like Michelle?

I hope I am neither of those things. If I could be anyone, I would want to be Dawn. She seems like a beacon of light, and we are all flies drawn into her. Unfortunately, I know I am not like her. She doesn't have a care in the world for anything at all, and I am not as adventurous as she is.

I can't know if I like myself yet, because I don't know who I am. Soon I am sure I will figure it out, but for now I am stuck swimming in lukewarm water.

"Double check," he suggests, and I can tell it isn't an order. "What else are you going to do?"

"Fair enough, I guess." I answer.

One, two three, four, five.

That's one thing I know I can do. Count. Up and down, down and up. There are five containers of grief serum no matter which way you spin it. Though I don't know that I am going to have to use one anytime soon. I doubt I will have to do anything.

That's something I am not, lazy. Easily bored as well, but I wouldn't actively seek adventure. I'm not as perfect as Dawn anyway. She seems to be the ideal person.

"Five." I turn around to face him, leaning on the cupboard lightly.

"It should be six." He tells me.

"You think someone stole the Grief serum while were on lunch?" I ask. "You're numbers wrong, it wasn't six yesterday."

"Clint!" Jeff screeches. "How many syringes of grief serum are there?"

A pause echoes through the Homestead. We are the only three Med-jacks, and during the day everyone else is out working. Now I can see why nobody else is a Med-jack; there is nothing to do here.

"What?" I can hear Clint through the flimsy walls of this house.

"How many syringes of grief serum are there?" Jeff shouts back, so loud I think the walls may shatter.

I wait in the silence after his words.

"Five," Clint's voice echoes back.

"Clint?" Jeff yells again.

Another pause.

"What?"

"Your fives look like sixes. That's poor penmanship." Jeff yells back.

I hear feet stomping up the stairs. The door opens.

"They do not," Clint protests, talking the clipboard out of Jeff's hands. He scans the sheet and then stares at the numbers. "They do not. Maybe we should check out your eyesight."

"Maybe we should see if you have arthritis and that's why your penmanship looks like klunk," Jeff retorts.

I've heard it maybe a dozen times now, but I've still got no idea what the word klunk means. Maybe I shouldn't add observant to the list of things I am. It seems like a good idea anyway.

"I hate inventory," I mutter.

"What, do you want me to go outside and breaks someone's arm?" Clint asks, a smile on his lips. "Give it five more minutes and one of those dumb Builders is bound to get injured. Normally we get one of them an hour."

I really didn't intend for him to hear me, but from the way he is laughing he seems to think it is funny. I can get away with bitterness in a way Michelle can't. She has been robbed of the luxury by her violent tongue and his slithering fists.

I sigh, "none of them are doing any work because Michelle is with them, and they can't take their eyes off her."

All of the girls are very pretty. Michelle is beautiful like a flame, in the sense that I do not want to touch her because she might burn me, but is still mesmerizing. Dawn is the same, but I more so worry she would crumble between my fingers if I reached.

"Which makes the odds even better," Clint continues, "because they are bound to start hammering something and not watching and BAM, there goes a finger."

Nodding, I remain silent. Not one of those idiots has probably touched a hammer since Michelle arrived.

While the Med-jacks continue arguing about penmanship, I sneak out the door. I stroll down the stairs and outside, rounding the building to where the Builders are. As I round the corner the few that are working stop and look up at me. I nod.

The Builders must be the idiots. Which is odd, because building this seems like a ton of work. Not only is it complicated, but it seems like a bit of a mess.

Soon we will be off and done for dinner, but for now I look and stare at the building. Eventually Gally approaches the ones that are staring and they move off and back to their work. Michelle doesn't even look up. It seems as though they are still assembling the frame, which they had begun yesterday. I was in the bathroom when I heard the crash, and when I came out their whole pile was in rubble.

Thankfully, yet also unfortunately, no one was hurt.

"You going to keep staring?" I hear Gally turn to shout at me.

Michelle looks up when he speaks, and I see her eyes penetrate his skin like daggers. She looks at me out of the corner of her eye, and almost gives a nod of solidarity, before she starts glaring. I don't know what I did, if I did anything, and I can't tell if she is turning red from anger or if her cheeks are burnt.

"Med-jack business." I tell him straight, and he rolls his eyes before turning back around to his work.

Soon enough it'll be dinner anyway, so it's not like I'm really interrupting anything.

Michelle breaks off, before turning around and moving off of her work. Her Keeper glares her down, but says nothing as she storms past him and towards me. She shouldn't be disobeying him like that, not when he could run to the Keepers at any second. Besides, it's like two hours until dinner, so whatever this is can definitely wait.

"What are you-"

She cuts me off by shushing me, dragging me off towards the bathroom. Opening the door, she throws us inside and shuts the door behind her. She heads over to a window and slams it shut before turning back to face me.

"What's the deal with you and the leader?" She demands.

"Newt?" I ask back.

She shrugs. "Maybe? I don't know his name. He's in charge of everything."

"That's not Newt." I tell her. "That's-"

She cuts me off. "I don't care what his name is. I just need to know what your deal is with him."

Nothing. He was just asking me about sleeping arrangements, and how it has been going. Said he was going to let us girls have the room in the addition of the Homestead so we didn't have to sleep on the floor. If I tell Michelle that, she won't believe me though. I can feel her distrust in waves. The only way I can get her to trust me, is by lying.

"He asked me to keep an eye on all the girls."

While that's not too far off from the truth, it is a lie. Though he wanted to know how the rest were doing, I told him I didn't know. For some reason, I seem to be his primary point of contact. Maybe that's because I'm the only one who is at least somewhat normal. Dawn broke their biggest rule, Michelle keeps getting into trouble, and no one even knows the other girl's name anyway.

"Are you?" She tries to stand to fight, but she is so much short than I am.

If I say no, she still won't trust me, so instead I shrug. "Hadn't really thought about it, actually. Not in a serious way."

"You had better not." It's a threat, but knowing Michelle I am in the right. If I was wrong, I would already be on the floor with blood pooling in my mouth instead of thoughts.

"He's worried you are going to get in another fight." That is a truth, but I am also worried about that. I barely know her, but I don't want her to get banished or anything. As much as she is distance, she seems like she would be a good ally to have on my side.

"If I do, he'll be the last to know about it." She says.

"Are you going to fight someone else?" I ask.

When she steps closer to me, I know I have crossed a line, but I don't care. Honestly, Michelle can't keep living her life getting her way all the time. Maybe now isn't the time nor the place to teach her that though, not when I am trying to build up trust with her.

"I'm not an idiot." She spits. "I know what'll happen if I try that."

I nod, because I don't know what else to do, and because she is right.

"You should get back, before Alby sees us hiding in here."

When she steps back, I realise it's a victory on my side. That was the absolute right thing to say to this girl. She straightens herself up, as she peers out the window. No one is outside staring it, and I'm not surprised. Michelle is many things, and almost all of them stem from some crazy form of paranoia.

"Right." She backs away. "I'll talk to you later Leo."

She walks out the room, and I can't help but grin.

She knows my name.


	15. I'm listening

14 Dawn

This is the fourth sunset I have seen. I slap Frypan over the shoulder as I stare over the Wall. He is laughing and speaking beside me, but I am distracted by the sun, and its beauty.

"At least there was no pig head today." He shakes his head as he laughs.

That much is true, and I let the thought slip out my lips in a tangled giggle. Newt stares at us, the hint of a laugh on his lips, but exasperation in his eyes.

"A pig head?" He asks. "You know, that could be serious Fry."

"They pull pranks all the time." He shrugs, squeezing my shoulder once before looking towards Newt.

The second-in-command doesn't buy it, and I am not surprised he doesn't. Part of me knows I shouldn't buy it either, but that sound is drowned by the adrenaline and thrill of being alive. There is nothing on this planet that can stop me, especially not either of these boys and their worries.

"When did the Runners come back?"

They pause their conversation as Newt looks at me funny. Fry just wears a klunk-eating grin across his face, and I playfully shove him sideways.

"What's your deal with the Runners?" Newt asks.

Fry looks like he is about to speak, but instead he just laughs. I roll my eyes, but back away from the two of them. Only staring, Newt stays stationary, while Fry is too distracted to even know I am gone. These boys will certainly be the death of me, honestly.

I look around, with no signs of the Runners anywhere, I decide I need to find something to do. The short girl is in the garden. She is sitting alone, with a rake in her hand and the sun setting in her curly brown hair. She doesn't turn, or even seem to notice me when I jog up and find her.

"Hey," I begin. I gave up on asking her what her name is a while ago, though I still can't help but wonder. "What's up curls?"

If she doesn't have a name, I have to give her one. So curls will stay for now, until another comes along.

She looks up at me, then down at herself and her own shirt. Her dirty fingers stain the white fabric brown as she examines it in her hands.

"Curls." She smiles as she looks past me. "I like it."

I kneel down, glad that finally something I am doing is working out properly. "Did you eat dinner?"

She shakes her head, as she stabs the dirt with her rake. I've never seen her quite as lucid as this, since she always seems to be staring off into space. This is the first time we have ever been alone together though, so that might be it.

"Yeah," she looks up at me, squinting as the sun fills her eyes. "I did."

She doesn't really talk, but I like her presence all the same. She is silent and reassuring, even if I don't think she sees half the things that go on here. I wonder if she has even heard my name yet.

"I'm Dawn." I tell her, a smile on my lips.

She nods as she thinks. "I guess I'm Curly."

I laugh, shaking my head. For such a quiet girl she is awfully funny. When she goes back to picking at the dirt, I realise that I don't think she is going to come back to our conversation. Wherever she is, is a place that is lost to me. This can't be just from being knocked out to get here like I thought, it's got to be something deeper.

"You managed to get her to talk?" A voice asks from behind me, curious.

I turn and recognise the boy. They call him Zart, and he is keeper of the Gardens. In charge of Curly it seems. I wonder if he knows her name.

"Have you not?"

He shakes his head, so I doubt he really speaks either. He bends down in the Gardens next to her, and I realise they must never sleep. The Gardeners, I mean. I don't know how they can stand something so boring. It is just dirt and plants that don't make a sound. At least the kitchens are full of laughter, and the occasional thrown egg.

Frypan may like a clean kitchen, but he likes to laugh a lot more. I'm glad; it's what keeps me going through the day. It's just him and me, and occasionally Newt or Alby will show up, and a couple builders to actually cook things. The hours of prep are just Fry and I though.

"Call her Curly." I tell Zart. "It's the closest thing we've got to a name."

He smirks, shaking his head as he rips an onion out from the Earth. I'll probably be cutting that up tomorrow with Frypan. It seems as though we are all interconnected in this Glade.

"Curly." He smirks. "Kind of funny."

"Oh, it's definitely funny." I laugh, backing away from him. "I'll talk to you later."

He doesn't even look up from the dirt as I turn around, heading deeper in the Glade. As much as this place is boring, the people in here are so very exciting and fun. There is nothing I can't experience with so many different people here. It is a Maze of surprises and excitement, and a universe of stars.

Though I don't even know where to begin. Unfortunately, a lot of the boys here avoid me like the plague, and I couldn't tell if there is a single person in the immediate vicinity who wouldn't recoil away from me. As far as I can tell, the only thing different about me from everyone else here is that I am a girl.

But that's not going to stop me from doing anything.

"Hey you." I spin on my heels to see Michelle moving towards me. "Come with me."

I furrow my brow, and she simply rolls her eyes, wrapping her fingers tightly around my wrist and gripping on to me as tightly as she can possibly can. Or maybe she is holding loosely and doesn't know her own strength. I mean, there are a hundred thousand possibilities, each of which would explain exactly what she is doing, or at the very least planning, but I wouldn't know.

"I can walk for myself." I bend my wrist towards me, and she lets go. The force sends me smacking down against the ground.

When she turns around, I can feel her eyes staring down at me. They are blue, and as cold as ice. So is her skin; to the touch it freezes me. When she offers me her hand, I move myself away from her, quickly and precisely. My feet roll up on the ground beneath me as I move forward.

I storm off in front of her, but at the same time I am following her. We move further away from the gardens, and towards the Deadheads. I haven't spent more than minutes in here, but I have a feeling Michelle trust these trees with her secrets. In here she can speak them, and the sounds will get trapped between the green leaves.

It is a sound proof room. Although it isn't because any shank could stumble in here and hear everything I have ever had to say. The deeper we move, the darker it gets. There is no sun, only darkness, and it doesn't help that the branches hide us away from the light.

Maybe that's why she likes it here. In the Deadheads, it's too dark to see your left feet, let alone see someone else's. Whatever is about to happen, it isn't good.

"Why did you bring me here?" I spin around, struggling to see the ginger in the dim lighting.

She crosses her arms, staring me down. "You know we are being watched, right?"

Watched? That sounds ridiculous.

"She isn't just being paranoid." That voice belongs to Leo. "Although, she makes it sound much more drastic than it is."

I can't see her, but I can feel her eyes behind me. She steps forward, not so she is in line with Michelle, but so we are in a circle. Here, it is the three of us working together. I didn't imagine we would ban together at any point in my life. A girl who seems to be scared of her own shadow and who likes to listen to what she is told to do, another who gets into fights and has more success in breaking bones than in anything else, and me, the one who craves to touch the sun.

If I think about it, which I don't like to do, I am sure they both would describe themselves much different ways, and I them. Michelle probably thinks herself reasonable and cautious and Leo probably thinks herself kind and intelligent. I imagine they both think he me rash and careless, but then again I can't know for sure.

"It's the leader and his boys." Michelle tells me. "They are keeping tabs on us, making sure we aren't misbehaving."

"Sort of, anyway," Leo corrects. "I think they want to protect us, and make sure we are adjusting to well."

I find myself, with the little knowledge I have, in the middle of these two opinions. Though I am sure they are keeping tabs on us, I am not positive they are doing so with a positive or negative idea in mind.

Instead, they seem to be a mishmash of the two. They are probably observing us like rabbits in cage; an experiment in anyway shape or form.

"So, what?" I ask. "You want me to do something about it?"

"No." Leo interjects, and I can see the words bouncing around inside Michelle. She wants me to disagree, but she takes a backseat to Leo. "That would only cause a ruckus. I'm just telling you so you are careful."

"That doesn't mean we can sit idly and watch this happen." Michelle's tongue is a snake.

There are her two cents. She is right too. If I am being watch and spied upon, for whatever reason, I am not going to take the knowledge and carry it around.

"We have to do something about it." I tell Leo.

She shakes her head. "It's too early to cause a fuss. We've been here four days. Let's at least wait a week or so before we raise hell about it."

"So we should let them continue this for a week?" Michelle demands, crossing her arms.

"If you had forgotten they still aren't sold on letting you live," Leo spits. "It's in our best interest not to complain. At least, not yet."

"She is right." I notice, referring to Leo.

I hate it, and it isn't fair, but that's how it is. If Michelle decides to throw a temper tantrum, Alby made it very clear she is going to get well acquainted with those Grievers. In the short seconds I saw one, I came to the realization that no one wants to get to know a Griever. So it's unfortunate, and messed up, but we can't run about screaming yet.

"We should wait out a week," I suggest.

"Who knows if they will even be spying by then?" Leo asks.

"Who knows what they will find out by then?" Michelle counters.

It's dark in here, but I have gotten the clearest picture of these girls I ever have. Leo thinks calmly and straight, and so does Michelle. The difference between them is their plan of action. The corner of a grimace that is apparent on Leo's face tells me she hears, and on some level agrees, with Michelle. For now, she has to remain calm and do what she thinks is right. Michelle, on the other hand, is ignoring her arguments. However, she is not jumping into action, which is the least Michelle like thing I have ever seen.

For some reason, in the still and silent Deadheads, trapped between the trees, the three of us can work together. And maybe, we will be able to get something done.


	16. I'm shredded

15 Michelle

When I take my lunch, Gally glares at me. Realistically, it's the only thing he can do effectively. It isn't like we were getting any proper work done. We've just been reinforcing the frame, again, and again, and you get the drill. Those builders can't build anything proper to begin with, which is why my job is basically to clean up after their messes. How they managed to get the Homestead up in the first place blows my mind.

I wish there were picnic benches here. It would only take our whole crew two hours to build five or six, if they were competent. I imagine benches are much easier to construct then buildings, but I still wouldn't trust that lot to do it.

Today, my plate consists of various green vegetables, a piece of bread, and some unknown mush of meat. I'd rather starve than eat any of that, and I can attest to that point since I am already starving. However, I am entitled to my hour break and Gally can't say anything about it.

Although, today is day five. In two days he gets to go back to Alby and tell him to kick me off his crew. So really, I should be doing everything in power to kiss his ass. It's not in my nature to behave like that, and the mere thought makes my stomach curl over on itself. What a low I would have to sink to, if I were to become one of his little shanks.

They are still building, and he still stands there with his arms crossed, because he isn't good at doing anything else.

"Hey."

When I look up, the funny-talker is sitting in front of me. He lays down his own plate of mush, and I can't help but think that it is his turn to spy on me today. I am about to tell him to back off, but he keeps talking.

"Gally's not happy you're talking a break, is he?"

He is glancing at the boy over his shoulder, and when I look around the second-in-command, I see Gally's head whip away from us.

I smirk, taking a bite of the bread on my plate. "So it seems."

He nods, wrapping his hands together as he stares me down. "Don't take anything he does personally, alright? That shank has been off pretty much since the beginning. When he got stung by a Griever."

I don't answer him, taking another bite of the bread before me. The funny-talker continues looks back at me, and raises an eyebrow.

"You talk about as much as that little kid."

I scoff, and almost choke on the bread in my mouth. I swallow it, before I look back at him. "The pipsqueak isn't all there."

"Makes sense." He begins. "Normally when people show up they spent the first week quaking in their boots. You Greenies are the best I've ever seen."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

I get the feeling he doesn't trust me. Nor do I buy that anyone here trusts me. At least it goes both ways. These boys have dubious intentions at best. Especially since every time I look at one I catch them look away from me, as quick as they possibly could.

"Nothing, nothing." He quickly backtracks, leaning back. "It's a good thing. You should've seen us when we first came here."

I don't care to see it, or even to think about them. They just are people who happen to be sharing the same space as me. Boys who are incredibly annoying. I mean, so very annoying. This boy is no exception. He is trying to talk to me, probably to find out more information about me. His eyes penetrate me as deeply as eyes can. Whatever he is looking for, he isn't going to find it.

"Anyway," he begins, "you lot are adjusting well?"

"Adjusting?" I snort. "That implies that before this there was something."

He knows there was nothing. This boy must've also woken up in an elevator shaft, alone and cold. At least I had other people with me. I don't care to imagine what it was like to wake up in a place, without a face or a name. Surrounded by darkness.

Not because it sounds unpleasant, but because I genuinely don't give a klunk about anybody else here.

"Fair enough." He shakes his head.

Exactly, of course I'm right. I know what I am talking about after all, and I am not just talking out my behind.

I get up, and surprisingly my plate is finished. With the exception of that weird meat. I just leave it to fester in the heat.

"I had better get back to work."

He nods, standing up with his own plate and moving off as well.

Maybe he knows I am not going back to building. If he does, he doesn't let it show, and before long he is off talking to the leader. Of course this whole thing was an attempt at getting information out of me. Why I expected anything different, I could not tell you for sure. These boys that live here are nothing but conniving.

It takes me a few steps before I get into the Deadheads. In here I can breathe. The trees provide shade and protection from the harsh sun. The Glade is a cage, but in here for some strange reason, it feels like the cage is gone, and I am safe. The dense brush blurs into itself, and I can pretend the Deadheads go on and on for miles and years.

In here, it is ease to believe there is nothing trying to suppress or confine me. Trees can hold secrets. I am not sure why I trusted our little group in the woods. It wasn't our coalition, because the pipsqueak wasn't there. To be honest, I couldn't say why I trust any of them at all. As far as I know, they are spying too.

I can't tell if it is too late, or too early to care. I have been here for as long as I have ever known, but at the same time I know I have the rest of my life to wait out here. There is no escape, and I know it deep in my stomach. My issue is, I crave the taste of a new world. My lips wish to have one pass through my lips, and my stomach aches for sustenance. I will never be full.

It is hard to believe I will ever eat, if for as long as I have been alive I have been starving to death.

There is a tree in front of me, and in my back pocket I have a screwdriver. Gally wouldn't trust me with a hammer, which makes me wonder why he deemed this safe. This item would make the perfect shank; it is pointed and strong, and I could easily shove it through someone.

I doubt he knows I took it. I whip it out. My fingers grip tightly around the plastic handle, letting it burn into my hand. The plastic isn't cold are hot, but it coexists with my skin. Melting into it like it is a part of me, and I am a part of it.

I am a weapon; I know I am. For as long as I have lived I have not been taken seriously, but here I am. Strong, brutal, and ready to fight. I am not a bomb, like the boys treat me. In a second I could go off, but I am not ticking down to death. This body is cold, and firm, and calculated. It is a switchblade. Push one button and it will go off, but it will be your fault.

The closest thing I have to a switchblade is a screwdriver.

I slice the bark on the tree in front of me. It makes a quick thick line through the middle. My lips curl around the adrenaline rushing into my teeth, and I can't help but laugh.

My fingers flinch, and I cut open the bark again. I make another slice, and another, until the bark is shredded. I let the screwdriver drop from my hand, and with my callused fingertips, I rip the bark off the tree. When I grab it, I pull so hard I fall on to the ground.

I get back up again, as I must.

I continue to tear at the bark. It comes apart in thin flakes, flying back around me as the tree begins to peel off. When I reach the ends of what I have cut, I don't stop. My fingers pry and shake as they attempt to tear apart the tree in front of me.

There is no stopping me.

My fingers burn and bleed, and the light brown bark begins to bleed as well. I reach to the ground, picking up the screwdriver off of the dirt, as I stab the tree again and again. Into it I carve lines and shapes, and nothing and everything. Though I am not aiming to write anything, I explain all that is bottled up inside me. In a way, my body is also a cage, and so are the rules of the Glade.

Here in the forest, there is just me and the power of my screwdriver. Even a sturdy tree cannot adequately fight against me. That is because inside my bones there is power, and that power holds me up off the ground and supports me on my feet.

"What the shuck are you doing?"

When I turn around, there is a boy holding up a knife at me. Though my shoulder are heaving, I know I only have a screwdriver. I know I am backed against a tree, and it is me and a boy. Over his shoulder there is another boy, staring me down.

I let myself back away from the tree, and I raise my hands. I drop the screwdriver from between my raw fingers, before I begin to running.

"Stop!" The boy shouts, but I don't listen as I dart around them and through the Deadheads.

The trees smack against me, and I rip through them as I try to break out of the forest. My feet spring over roots and all the things in the ground that are reaching out to stop me. Unfortunately it seems even the Deadheads aren't safe.

When I reach the clearing, my feet don't stop as I pound forward.

I keep running, and running, until I realise.

There is nowhere for me to run.

They are pounding behind me. When I stop, I kneel on to the ground, putting my hands on my head. Someone collides into the back of me, tripping over my body. I stumble forward, but catch myself. Whoever is behind me, grabs my hands out from in front of me, ripping them behind my back, and lifting me off the ground.

"What exactly am I being arrested for?" I demand, trying to see who is behind me.

There is no answer, only hands that shrug me up.

The boy leads me past the homestead, and past the boys that are building. Gally smirks as he stares me down. When I look forward, I can tell they are leading me into the Slammer. This is great.

The builders are staring at me, and I make eye contact with the boy who saved me from the crashing building two days ago. He puts a finger on his lips, shaking his head at me.

I decide to take his advice.


	17. I'm drowning

16 Ella

Red hair melts away as the girl with the colour is put in a dark room. The room they put us in when we got here. The Walls were grey, much like the Glade, the boys here, and the smoke man.

"You know you can't escape." He whispers the words over my ear, and the sound sends chills down every corner of my body.

I can feel his shoulders leaning against mine, and his stubble tickling my shoulder. His greyness swallows me whole, and I try to concentrate on the garden. Nothing can protect me from the clicking of his white pen, nor the words he writes on his white page. It is impossible to see the ink on the paper, and for the longest time I thought he was writing in invisible ink. Secrets that he can look at later.

The smoke man has secrets, but not ones that he feels the need to write down. He sees and remembers everything. In his skull is a constant video feed, and when he is done talking to me for the day, he plugs into a computer and downloads all the information.

No, he writes with his white pen everything he already knows, because the smoke man knows everything. As grey as he is, there is no room for grey in his life. Grey is faded and distant, and it is how he wants me to see and feel. It is why he puts me here.

He writes in white because the world only exists in two colours, black and white. Only he chooses to ignore that which does not suit him. The black is something he does not see value in, and I have black skin.

"You can't ignore me."

No, but I can keep trying. He surrounds me and fills every crevice of my body until I am nothing but smoke and white. My body was not built to hold him, nor all that he encompasses. There is too much to him and all the people he shares everything he knows with. As much as I pretend the smoke man is the only one watching me like a rat running around in a Maze, he is only an instrument in the bigger plot. He is only part of the smoke, and he obviously isn't all of it.

Whatever is watching me, and whatever is watching him, and whatever is making the both of us into little rat-nosed people, is certainly wicked.

My brain hurts as I think, and I drop my shovel into the dirt. It's not going to serve me well if I keep trying to discover what is going on. Though I don't care. If the smoke man doesn't want me to do it, I am going to keep searching until I am dead and buried.

"I am always here, Ella." He has his arms wrapped around me, as he absorbs me into his stomach.

I am drowning in his lake, which he has measured to the millilitre. Even considering the amount that evaporates per second, the smoke man has considered every possible variable. It's just enough water inside him to make the water reach just above my head. Even if I tilt myself up, my lips will only graze the surface, and there is nothing that I can do.

Here, he has given me the illusion of a choice. The smoke man wants me to fight and to battle with him, and he wishes for me to try to defeat him because he gets power in making me struggle. I am just so close to breathing, and to seeing the truth, but I know that no matter what I do, I will always be drowning.

His arms strangle me too, holding me in place. I want to scream, and I want to cry, but I can't even manage to open my eyes, for the water and the light behind it stings. It breaks away at my skin, and there is nothing I can do to stop it from hurting.

I open them anyway, because I know he wants me to hide from the world.

What I see is the Garden. I am still drowning, and he still has me in a frim hold, but I am also free from him. Unfortunately, liberty comes at the cost of clarity. He will let go of me if I let go of the truth, but he fails to comprehend that the truth is buoyancy in the lake he holds me in. Everyone else is drowning but doesn't know. At least I am close enough to salvation that I can see it.

I would give up anything for clarity, and freedom is simply a cost that I spend with ease. I have never known freedom, so it makes no sense for me to trust it to hold me up. Besides, everyone else only has the illusion of freedom.

Everyone else is drowning too, and only I know it.

I stumble forward, as my head rings. When I spin around, I can finally see him. He has not let go, but he lets me breathe for a second.

Or maybe I force my own freedom out of his white hands.

"No," he hears me, but he says nothing.

Instead, the water begins to pool in at our feet. It sinks up around us, until it reaches my knees and my hips. The smoke man wants me to look down. He craves my screams and wails, and he wishes for me to beg. My lips are nailed together, and my eyes are attached to his. I am not letting go.

"Sorry?"

Both our heads turn together to stare at the boy who keeps me. He digs through a flower bed, glancing at me over his shoulder. He must have heard me talk, but I can't speak again.

My head ticks as it rotates back to stare at the mirror image of the smoke man. When our eyes meet, I realise they are the same colour.

I stumble back, landing in the tomatoes behind me. His has broken away from copying me, and he steps forward. His eyes tilt around his head, and the mechanical gears that control him grind together as he moves closer to stare at me. Every move is calculated, and every glance is preprogrammed. He has all the power, and I am a puppet of a girl.

"Curly?" The gardener stands up next to the boy, glancing down at me in a lucid motion.

He doesn't realise it because he can't see the smoke man, but the two stand the same way. In a way that they are watching me and trying to figure me out. From the outside, it is impossible to tell that the two boys have different intentions.

The keeper breaks free of the hold he shares with the clouds, leaning forward to offer me a hand. I can't take it though, because then his grey will get on me. I need to keep the little colour that I have, although the smoke hand has made sure that almost all of it has been washed out of me. If it were to rain, then I would lose everything I have.

I simply need to concentrate on something, anything. I search the ground and the gardens for every colour.

Next to my hand, in the dirt, grows a plant. A flower, not planted by us, rises up and out of the soil and blooms. Small but mighty, it fights to survive despite all the odds that are stacked against it.

I take the flower in my hand, staring at its deep purple colour.

Once there was a violet girl


	18. I'm worried

17 Leo

I was tasked with getting more paper from Winston so the Med-jacks can take one final bit of inventory before the day is up. We've been doing inventory for four hours now, if you forget the fact that we did inventory yesterday as well. And I assume every other day to ever happen.

At least, I was supposed to be getting paper for inventory. I did no such thing, not for any particular reason except that I can't manage to bring myself to ask exactly who Winston is, and where I can find him. Nothing I try to do is done right. Why does my own inadequacy swallow me whole?

Besides, Clint and Jeff won't miss me. The two are inseparable, and I feel as if I am causing some underlying tension every time I join them in a room. I get that I am not supposed to be here, but I thought I would at least some-what fit in with the two of them.

I wasn't mistaken, but that doesn't mean I was right.

"Med-jack!" I hear someone scream the words, as I glance around for their origin.

Just a ways east of where I stand on the porch of the Homestead, are the Gardens.

My feet step up off of the porch, as the eyes a boy or two flashes off of what they are building, moving towards me.

"Med-jack!" The same voice cries, and I can see a boy running towards me.

Builders are trickling in, all of them standing behind me, curiously peering towards the sound but not wanting to get involved. The boy who runs to me is coming from the Gardens. He is sprinting for the Homestead as fast as he can, and it takes a few seconds before my feet pick up speed, and I am running his way.

When I meet him in the center of the field, just north of the Box, he pants before stumbling past me. "A girl collapsed in the Gardens."

Shuck.

My feet carry me, thick and heavy boots pounding and tearing apart the dirt, as I get as closer to the Gardens. The young girl has collapsed in the Gardens. Or maybe it was Dawn coming to see her, or Michelle about to start a fight. I hope it was one of the ones I know for some odd reason, rather than the small defenseless girl. The one who can't even speak.

When I get there, a boy with black hair is kneeling in the dirt, holding on to something below him. It becomes apparent the closer I get that between the tomatoes lies the tiny girl, shaking. Her eyes are closed and she jerks up and down. Clenched fingers are at the end of her shaking hands, leading up to her head twisted on an angle.

"Don't touch her."

I know what this is. She is having a seizure. The memory of a seizure before this scratches at my mind, though I know I can't access it, and I don't care to try. It doesn't matter how I know what is happening, all that matters is that I know what to do next.

She thrashes and the vines tangle up around her.

I reach down into the dirt beneath her body, ripping apart the tomatoes. The Keeper doesn't stop me, only stands by and watches. If she is too close to the vines, they will strangle her. Who cares if a few tomato plants get destroyed in the process? If it means she can breathe, then that's a small sacrifice to pay.

"What's happening?" The Keeper asks over my shoulder.

"She's having a seizure." I tell him. "How long has this been happening?"

He shrugs, shaking his head. "I don't know? A minute."

"Time it from now on." I look over my shoulder. "We need to know how long it lasts.

The boy stares me down, a deer caught in headlights.

I look at him directly into his eyes. "Now."

I hear his watch beeping as he sets a timer, and I turn back to the little girl. Quickly ripping open the top few buttons on her purple shirt so she doesn't choke, all the precautions I need to take come back to me.

"Give me your shirt." I turn around to see the Keeper staring at me.

I stick my hand out. He stares at me, before lifting the fabric over his head. When I feel it in my hands, I take it and roll it up into a ball. Carefully, I lift her head up and place the shirt underneath her head.

"Where are the Med-jacks?" I ask.

The Keeper pokes me, and when I turn around, I see him pointing past me. Running from the Homestead come Jeff and Clint. They sprint together, carrying a wicker basket that I only imagine is filled with medical supplies.

It doesn't matter now, because there is nothing left to do except wait for it to pass. Only two minutes in, there's not much reason to worry.

"What's going on?" Clint asks as he approaches me.

"She's seizing," I answer.

He bends over anyway, checking the girl out below me. "Yeah?"

"How did you know to do that?" Jeff demands, crossing his arms and staring me down.

I shrug. It's like how I know that I could ride a bike if I so chose to. There are no memories in my head of bike riding, yet all the same, if a bicycle was presented before me I know I could use it. The same goes for treating seizure it would seem.

"How long has it been happening?" Clint asks, checking out the girl's fading twitches.

"Only three minutes." The Keeper remarks. "Maybe four?"

It should be over soon. I can tell from the way her head teeters to the side instead of shakes, and from how her breath is becoming audible and calmer. The Keeper is leering down over top of her, trying to get close enough to make sure the girl is alright. Jeff holds him back anyway, without a sign of a struggle.

"Leo."

I turn to look at the girl on the ground. She rolls her head through the vines. Her eyes are drowning in a pool of her own sweat, which come from both the convulsions and the summer heat.

"I've, I must-" she can't continue the words that slur and slip on the ocean on her face.

"She's awake," I begin. "Someone should bring her back to the Homestead."

Clint turns to me, a furrowed brow and a shocked look wearing him like a mask. "We're not moving her seconds after she's had a seizure."

"She'll get heat stroke if we don't Clint." Jeff jumps in, letting go of the Keeper next to him and bending over to help the girl.

For a second, I watch Clint make a decision. His fingertips itch as they bend. Eyes darting back and forth, he doesn't know what will help the girl next. I guess that is what being a Med-jack is. A series of guesses with someone's life hanging in the balance.

Maybe this isn't cut out for me.

"Leo." The girl begins. When she speaks words slur out her mouth in a language I have heard but do not comprehend. Perhaps it is just gibberish, but it seems as though the girl is putting in too much effort for this to be nothing but nonsense.

"Sorry?" I tumble towards the girl, my feet tripping in the ripped vines of the tomatoes as I try to bring myself closer to her.

They continue to bring her off as I try to follow without tripping in the plants below. This little girl does not speak. For as long as I've been awake she has said very few words, and certainly never my name. I am surprised she even knows it if I am honest.

She continues to mumble, and this time I actually do not catch the words.

"She speaks to you?" The Keeper asks behind me.

I don't bother to stop and listen to him, as I move towards the girl. What is she talking about?

Tight and callused hands wrap around my arm. I spin on my heels to get a better look at the boy, the Keeper of the Gardens, holding me firmly in place. When I look back the small girl is further away. There is no use to fighting; it will only create a scene.

"She talks to you?" He asks again.

I shake my head. "No. Does she speak to you?"

"She speaks to herself." He tells me. "I mind my own business, keep to myself, never bothered to mention it, but she does it a lot. Never thought much of it, until she was whispering before she fell over."

"You hear what she says?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "It's not words I understand. Not this language. Thought you might have gotten it."

No, I don't. I wonder how she can speak another language, or if perhaps Dawn and Newt do. It would explain the funny accents. However, the small one has no accent, I think. Maybe she doesn't speak any English at all, and that is why I have never heard her talk besides a few words.

"I'll tell you what I find out." It's an empty promise, but he lets go of me when I say it.

I try to convince myself it is not a conscious lie when I head back to the Homestead. If he wants to know about her, it's not business to tell him, however it's not my business to hide it either. As much as it's twisted, he let me go and that was not only all that I wanted, but all that I needed him to do.

My hands reach around the doorknob and I enter into the building. The air is the same temperature in here as it is in the Glade, but there is a breeze that flows in and out the windows. I don't understand how it can be so calm and how I can be so calm when all that I want to do is panic.

"Leo." Newt's feet make the stairs creak as he pounds down them.

His limp is obvious as he pulls himself close to me, grabbing a hold of me by the arms. "You won't believe-"

"I know." I tell him. "I was there."

He cocks an eyebrow, trying to steady his breath as he glances around. "Well, we've got to find Dawn, because it doesn't look good."

The little girl seemed find when I last saw her. I mean, she had just had a seizure and was talking nonsense, but she was more or less okay? What could have happened in the time since she entered the building? It's not another seizure, is it?

I push past Newt, and he actually lets me go. The surprise hits me, and I notice it, but I don't turn around.

"Where are you going?" He asks. "We've got to get Dawn."

"I have to be up there helping." I tell him. "I am a Med-jack after all."

His eyes widen, and he moves up the stairs next to me. "Who's hurt? What is going on?"

"I thought you knew." I follow him up, watching as he darts around a corner and burst through a door into the med room.

The girl lies on the bed, her hair sprawled out about her, and vomit in her hair. Someone has placed a cold cloth on her head, and she shivers and shakes.

"What happened?" I dart past Newt, running and opening the cabinet and searching inside it.

"She just started throwing up," Jeff notes. "I think she has heatstroke. It would explain the vomiting, and the shivering."

"And the seizure." Clint offers, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

Right, none of us are trained doctors or know what we are doing. This becomes especially evident when I stand in front of the cupboard and don't know the first thing to grab. There is medicine, and vials, and syringes and gauze, and all sorts of things. None of which seem useful in making the girl on the bed coherent.

"Is she alright?" I ask, spinning around to looking at her.

"Leo." Newt begins. "We have to go?"

"What?" I ask.

When I meet his eyes, he doesn't seem happy about it either. He wears desperation and exhaustion, and it ways down the colour from his face. So much so that he is paler than he was to begin with. He reaches over towards me, but doesn't touch me. He gestures for me to follow him.

"What is going on?" I ask.

"I'll explain it later." He tells me.

That isn't enough. I can't leave the little girl.

"Leo."

The room stills at the girl's words. The only other sound comes from Jeff's vile smashing off the ground. Her voice is different than before. It is still and calm like the ocean on her forehead, and sure of what she is about to say.

"You have to be the leader," she says. "I can't, it didn't-"

She cuts herself off by wincing, and creasing her head. Leaning over the bed, green bile topples out of her mouth and on to the ground, joining the mess that Jeff's vile made on the wood floor.

"Leo," he says. "We have to go. Now."

I don't know what to do, but I am no help here, and Newt is very persistent. Instead of causing any further of a scene, I follow him out the room and down the stairs.

"What is going on?" I demand.

"It's Michelle," he begins. "She is going to be banished."


	19. I'm Exploring

18 Dawn

I can feel him standing above me, and if it is who I think it is, he is back early.

"You are blocking my sun," I joke.

"Excuse me, Princess." It is his voice, and I feel the sun blaring back as he moves away. "Didn't realise you needed a tan so much. I think you look more than fine."

I shake my head, covering my eyes as I crack them open. "I didn't say it was a bad thing. It's really hot."

"It's the Glade." He grunts as he lies down next to me.

Minho always says silly quips like that. As if everything here is self-explanatory. It mostly is, but I'm too lazy to actually go looking for any answers. It doesn't really matter. What matters is being here, and experiencing it all.

Like lying down in the grass an hour before the sun sets, next to a boy who has freedom pulsing through his veins but doesn't even recognise it. Every part of my skin craves the feeling of liberty inside me and I know if I fight for it, it will be mine.

However, I like things to come to me and not vice versa. I'm not the kind of person to grind up my sleeves and put in the work to get anything done.

"You're back early," I note.

When I peek out the corner of my eye, I realise he is staring at me. My eyes flick up to his and I watch him try and find something to stare at in the clouds. The chuckle that comes out my throat is mostly involuntary, but that doesn't make it unwelcome.

"Yeah," he says. "Thought I would skip out on the rest of the running. Figured I'd come see you."

I roll my eyes, so he turns his head. It's golden hour, so they everything is beautiful The sun sits on his skin, pushing off in waves and waves distracting me.

"What?" He asks. "You can't stop staring at me either."

"It's cause your face looks shucked up," I tell him, smiling. "I'm trying to decide if you got punched too hard or if you were born that way."

He laughs, looking down at his hands. He seems content with this answer. He rubs his hand across the back of his neck, before it settles back down against the ground.

"I'm not early," he offers, looking down at his hands. "We're supposed to be back an hour before the Doors close."

"The Doors close in two hours." I lie, a smirk on my lips.

He stares at me. "No way it's six. It's at least 7 by now."

I shake my head. "You'd be wrong to think that."

He lifts his watch up to his face, and I quickly knock it aside. He raises an eyebrow at me, before raising up the watch. In a quick flash, I knock his arm down again. He laughs, biting his lip before glaring me down.

"So this is what we're doing?" He feigns being offended, and I can only shake my head.

"Yeah, this is what we are doing."

His arm flies up, and I push on it with my fingers. His free hand grabs me by the wrist, and drags me up over top of him. He reaches his arm far out to the side, and I hold on to the watch as tightly as I can, so he can't see it.

"I hope you know how stubborn you are being." He grunts, but I know he doesn't really think I'm stubborn. "You're such a slinthead."

"Why don't you just trust me with the time?" I laugh back.

He drops me, but I continue to cover the face of his watch, leaning up above his body to have my hand on his wrist.

"Because you are lying." He emphasizes the word as if I hadn't realised I wasn't telling the truth.

I roll my eyes, but a smirk plays on my lips. "I never lie."

"No?" He asks, sitting up.

I stumble off of him, so that I sit up next to him as well. Just to the left, and so close that are hips are touching. Neither of us moves, and I watch him glance up from his lap up to my eyes.

There is nothing from before that I remember, although there are little bits of information that seep through now and again. I remember that before, people hated brown eyes. Often thought dull and ugly, blue and green were much preferred. My eyes are one of the two; I never took the time to actually decipher which since I never particularly cared.

Here, I've decided everybody had been wrong. There are no eyes prettier than the darkest of browns. So dark they look like the colour of the night sky, of secrets and of dreams. His eyes don't shine, they absorb. They swallow up everything in this Glade, which means both the good and the bad, until there is nothing left but him and I.

"No." The word comes out as the wind would, much less like a sound and more like the echo of one.

I can see us blinking together, and breathing together. As the time grew, we were swallowed by the shadow of the trees next to us. Here in the shade, I can't help but think of his eyes.

"Really now?" He asks. His breath is shallow, and his eyes are only open a sliver.

"Really," I can't find myself speaking anymore words. My heart is racing. His face is so close to mine.

He leans in, but so do I, and suddenly are lips are on each other. His are strong, and firm, pressing tightly against mine. As far as I can remember, this is the first time I have ever kissed someone. A boy who I barely know, and who barely knows me, hidden in a corner of the Glade where no one will find us.

My arms snake up and around his face, until I am cupping his neck in my hands. His skin is tough too, like his lips, almost callused from being out in the sun. The harshness hasn't reached my skin since it is so new to the light, making us the same in all the ways that matter, and opposite in all the ways that don't. He is an adventure, while I am trapped here. I longed to touch the sky, and I found the stars in his lips.

He grabs me at the base of my neck and around my waist as he pulls me in tightly.

We know nothing about each other, except this moment. However, I doubt we know anything about ourselves anyway. I would not have this taste of fresh air any other way. This is exactly how I wanted it to be. It is entirely perfect.

I can hear him breathing, but I can also here myself breathing, as I reach forward and tug at his shirt. Trying to press myself into him, I wish for us to become one. Because what else is there, except him, and I, and this moment?

"Shuck."

I pull away, spinning my head to see Leo rounding up to us, behind a livestock pen. We were hidden from eyes, and as I look around only Leo has seen us stuck together.

"Oh shuck." She repeats.

I glance over to see Minho, his chest heaving and his eyes glancing at me out of the corner of them. When we broke apart, he shot a few feet away from me, further towards the forest.

This is not good. We've been caught.

"You found them." Newt jogs up, limping after Leo.

He glances at the two of us in the shade, as he furrows his brow. A laugh escapes his lips in one quick breath before he turns to Leo.

"What are you waiting for?"

Neither Minho nor I say anything, and I watch him look up to Leo, begging her silently to not tell Newt. Last time I spoke with the boy, Newt made it very adamant no Gladers were to touch each other. I don't exactly feel like getting on Newt's bad side either, and I don't remember the consequences for breaking Alby's rule.

"Nothing," Leo answers.

I can almost see the tension that fills Minho's skin seep out on to the ground.

"What's going on?" He asks, trying to stay calm, but I can hear the quake that began his sentence.

"Michelle is in the Slammer," Newt answers.

Again? She can't manage to stay out of trouble, can she? Yesterday we said we would wait out confronting Alby until at least a week into our stay. We've only been here five days, can't she handle herself for that long?

"Why?" Minho demands.

"Destruction of property, theft, violent acts," Leo lists.

"It's a load of klunk," Newt elaborates, "and the Doors close in forty-five minutes. We lost for a banishing by two votes."

"Two?" Minho says. "Why wasn't I there?"

"We couldn't find you," Newt says. "But if we are going to stop it, we've got to go now."

Minho gets up on his feet, looking back at me once, before jogging off. When he glances at me, his eyes shine for half a second and he grins.

I let a smile play on my cheeks as well, watching as he walks off.

Leo walks over to me, glancing down on me from below. I can see her fingers tightening and shaking in her fists.

"What's your damage?" I ask, grabbing at her hand and trying to pull her down next to me. "Relax."

She raises her eyes wide, with her eyebrows raised even higher as she bites down on the inside of her cheek. I tug at her hand once more before she rips it out of my grasp.

"Relax?" She repeats, shocked to say the least, but also completely flustered. She isn't angry at all, she just seems completely exhausted.

"Michelle will be fine." I sigh, even though I am not sure if it is true or not.

She furrows her brow, shaking her head at me. "She is being banished. Dawn, they are killing her."

Right, that is what the banishing is. That is the punishment for breaking Alby's rule. If Leo says anything, I'm going to be dead by the morning.

"The little girl had a seizure, and who knows if she is alright, and you have been doing whatever it is you are doing with the Keeper of the Runners!" Leo exclaims.

I stand up, taking a hold of her hands and pulling her into a hug. For some reason she feels responsible for this. I do feel bad for Curly, I really do, but Michelle brought this on herself. Leo can't blame herself for Michelle's choices.

"It'll be fine, honestly." She can't see me shaking my head over her shoulder, but I don't know what else to do at this point.

She pulls back from me, shaking her head. "No, it really isn't."


	20. I'm Done

19 Michelle

They didn't give me bandages when I got in the prison, so now I have another set of bloody finger prints along the walls. My skin is raw, ripe and red from the ripping of the woods. Besides, it doesn't help that when they threw me down into this massive concrete room, my chin scraped off the cement and my mouth filled with blood.

There is nothing metal here, but I crave the taste. The sour and sterile flavour of industry and building. The only problem is the rules that follow progress. I wish to be somewhere where there is nothing but the night and the blood, and the thirst for hunger.

"Get up."

I didn't notice I was lying on the ground. My face is on the side, the floor stained with the blood that has soaked in and pooled out my face. My arms are heavy, and they weigh like bricks against the ground. One arm over top of the other, one leg over top the other, I am trying to hold myself still.

"Get up."

A foot collides with my stomach and I hold in the groan that screams on the tip of my tongue. Someone's arm grabs hold of me by the shoulder. They try to lift me, so I hold myself at dead-weight. It takes a few seconds before they drop me at about a foot off of the ground.

I haven't eaten much all day. The force the cement sends through me makes me see dark black spots blocking my vision.

"Kick a girl while she is down." The sound swims in the blood that I haven't bothered to spit on to the ground yet. When I prop myself up it drools down my chin; a disgusting combination of spit, blood, and mucus. "I know I'm one of the first girls, but I thought you Gladers were better."

"Get up." When I look over, I realise it is the same guy who dragged me here.

My elbows push off the ground, trying to stand up on to my hands. As soon as one touches the concrete, a foot slams on to my back, knocking me down. I bite down on my tongue, but I can't tell if I am bleeding.

"Shank." I spit.

I am bleeding. Huh.

"We've got a banishing to get to," the guy smirks echoes through the concrete walls,

He and his friend grab me by the shoulders, before moving me out towards the Doors. I try to shrug out of their grips, but my head is a weight that hangs off my neck, swinging back and forth, and my feet drag along the ground as the boys bring me out of the prison.

When we get out of the solid room, they continue to drag me along the ground, and further towards the Doors. When we get there, it is nearly dark, and the boys stand around. Some hold torches that ignite the night, and others stand solemnly.

"Michelle of the Builders," their leader begins, kneeling down over top of me, "you are being sentence to banishment for the destruction of property, violent acts, and theft. The Keepers have decided, and their decision is final."

I scoff, but I can barely speak. "Trees are hardly property."

"You ain't coming back."

I don't exactly know what I am denying if I were to deny it. So I stand staring at Alby, glaring up past my eyebrows at his face. He stands in the center of everything, above me as I kneel on the ground before him. His legs are spread apart, his arms are crossed, and he waits for an answer. One that I don't have.

"This is ridiculous." The Runner boy jumps in, staring down Alby. "I'm voting against this. Why wasn't I at the meeting?"

"We didn't have time to wait for you." Another boy jumps in. "We kept her in a cell all day, and the longer we drag this out the more of a threat she is "

"Why wasn't she at the meeting?" The Runner boy demands. "Why are we banishing her for stealing? Alby, this is madness."

Maybe, but this is the way I understand the world to function. It's buffoonery. Anyone who oppose the way the system is run, is framed and murdered. The system is judge, jury and executioner, and there is no chance.

"She is violent, and a risk to others." Gally jumps in. "Did you see what she did? She stole my supplies and she turned a knife on the Baggers."

I did no such thing, but there is nothing in it to argue. At this point if they are dead set on killing me, they are going to kill me. There is nothing I can do.

"Where exactly could she have gotten a knife?"

"Well shuck slinthead, if she can steal a screwdriver have can steal a knife."

"Gladers, order." Alby calls, and that is all that he wants. That is all that matters to him. Order in a society so inclined to the evaporation of rules and systems. He lives a life of ignorance. If he thinks we can last like this, he is wrong.

He looks to the Baggers behind me, nodding. They bend over, and I can feel something tight being forced around my neck. They are going to hang me. This is it.

I am not being hanged, there is no way in Hell that I am letting that happen. I struggle roughly against their hands, thrashing about. My fingers dig into someone's skin, and I hear a boy cry out as he knocks me into the ground. My lip stings.

There is a boy on top of me, pinning my arms down as another reaches above my head, placing the rope around my neck.

He tightens it as the other boy lets go. It's not rope, it is made out of what feels almost like leather, and it chokes me as it rips me up off the ground.

It's a collar. Someone is holding on to a pole, and it is a leash.

"I vote against this." Leo jumps in.

"Doesn't matter," the second-in-command jumps in. "You only represent the girls. You ain't a Keeper."

She's the shank who represented me? No wonder I am being sentenced to death. That girl couldn't speak if her life depended on it. My life means nothing to her.

"Keepers, grab hold of the pole." Alby instructs.

A heard of boys circle around me. Faces grim, or faces with pity, or any mixture of the two things.

One of the Baggers nudges the Runner boy, but he refuses to grab on. He won't touch it. Eventually Alby glares at him, and a Bagger takes his hand, placing it down on the pole forcefully. When the Bagger lets go, the Runner boy doesn't let go either. He holds on, but doesn't look happy about it.

They begin to push me forward, as my feet slip and slide along the ground. I can't protest it since they are dragging me by the neck, but I am trying anyway. It hurts, and my neck burns, but so does the skin that lies on the floor of the Slammer, scraped off my body from being thrown on the concrete, and so do my lungs from trying to breathe. All there is, is pain, but I will be damned if I let myself die because of it.

My hands are ripping open as I try to hold myself along the Walls. As much as I wanted to go out into the Maze when I first got here, I literally would die before going in there now. I would die before dying at the hands of the Grievers. I saw them through the window, and I never want to go near them again.

"I stole the screwdriver." A voice jumps in. Someone is still pushing me, the leader Alby stops, spinning around on his heels.

"What?"

I recognise the voice, and when I look around I see the boy who pulled me away from the falling building. He's the one who told me to be quiet, and he did not steal the screwdriver.

Technically I did, though I hadn't realised I couldn't just take it.

"I gave it to her," he answers. "Didn't tell her it was stolen."

It's not the truth, but Alby tightens. "Doesn't matter, she threatened one of our own with a knife."

"I change my vote."

My head swings around to stare at Gally. He is looking at me, with his tomato-face and his raised eyebrows. He glances away, looking at Alby instead. "Now she can't be banished."

Alby lets go of the pole, and so do the boys slowly. It drops to the ground, and my head swings to the side with it. None of the Baggers move to pull me out, so I raise my hands up to the collar. I find the buttons that fasten it, and rip it open.

I push out of the circle, glaring at all the boys. In the end, I might have not been killed, but I didn't win. This system exists to my detriment, so it is impossible for me to win this. I shove past Gally too, who looks at me almost shocked as I walk away.


	21. I'm smoke

20 Ella

It is a dark world out there.  
One filled with smoke and fire, and the greyness that swallows everything.  
The smoke man's smog is not his. It's the world's. It clings to his clothing.  
I am a little girl.

She is tiny too. Violet. A mix of the sad blue and the passionate red.  
Lilac is a lovely colour, one which she wears well. She is the lilac.  
She is a sky and a sun, and it sinks into her skin.  
The sky is fires and what used to be the sunny days. It is the purple.  
Nothing about her is washed out.  
The purple is also the bruises.  
We are bruises. Most days it is her and I and the smoke man, and his needles.

She is smarter than I am.  
No one is smarter than you  
Tell that to her, and the freckles she wears like stars.  
She doesn't know what will come.  
We are fighting opposite sides. It wasn't her fault it has been two years.  
You are leaving her.  
I am leaving nothing.  
You have left the will to be with her already.

I must give her up to have her. Such colour does not come without sacrifice.  
Where am I?

You are lost in a world without her.  
You will have her once again.  
Who cares what the universe wants?  
She is the universe.

A purple eternity. That is where I absorb all that I am; in her endless colour. It comes off in waves so thick I can taste them.  
Together we will save it all.  
Neither of us are the kind of people who fail.  
At least not her.  
She is the plan, even if she thinks it is I.  
Everyone is along for the ride.  
I am sorry to you three.

We were supposed to be a coalition, but I have failed you all. You were supposed to be able to trust me, but I have been lying to you. It's not a big screw off to the people who control this, but a big screw off to the whole entire universe. We know there is no solution, and unfortunately there is nothing we can do about it. We can't save or solve any of it. We can try.

And I will never give up on you, purple girl.


	22. I'm representative

21 Leo

I can't breathe.

It's dark, and I am lying on the cold hard ground, and my lungs have been pressed into my chest so flat that I barely exist in the third dimension.

I am only fear. The terrified thought that pulse in the back of throat. If I wanted to speak, I couldn't. Not only am I exhausted, but I am alone. I'm in a place I don't know, surrounded by people I don't know. Even my own body is one I couldn't recognise in a mirror.

I couldn't tell you the colour of my own eyes. Nor could I discern if I have freckles or not.

"Hey, are you awake?"

I pull myself up to a sitting position, leaning on my hands in the dirt.

I have been awake for five days. Not straight, and maybe the word I am looking for isn't awake. It might be better to say I have been aware. The current situation I am in does not escape me. I am acutely aware of the Glade, and my lack of control, and my own inferiority. I am surrounded by chaos, and I can't create order to this mess, no matter how hard I try.

I can't speak, so I nod at Alby. He gestures for me to follow him, moving a few steps away.

Managing to drag myself off the ground, I follow him into the Glade. There are hammocks around and the Med-jacks offered me the bed in the Homestead, but I couldn't accept. Not while the other girls are sleeping on the ground.

Besides, the little girl is in that bed right now.

"I've been thinking." He begins as I trail along behind him. His figure is barely a silhouette in the dark of the night, only illuminated by the stars up above us. "You were right."

"About?" I mutter. Not trying to be rude, only attempting to clarify. I think I am right about everything I say to him. I was at the meeting after all; he heard my two cents on what we should do with Michelle, what I think she is actually guilty of, and who I think she is.

If I am honest, I pity her.

"About being a representative." He tells me. "You girls threw a whole new variable into the Glade. Shuck, you guys are the first Greenies since Nick died. We need the shucking rules, now more than ever with all the klunk going on. So I'm giving you a seat on the council."

What? "You're making me a Keeper?"

"Don't get ideas in your skull, slinthead." He tells me. "You ain't going to be given a vote. You'll just be a voice for the girls. You're too shucking new to get an actual say in anything, Greenbean. Though I'll let you be heard, from now on."

"You decided this yourself?" I have so many questions now.

"It was a decision we voted on when we decided what to do with Michelle, you know, after..." he trails off before looking back at me. "Whatever. It doesn't shucking matter now. What does is that we came to the consensus that you deserve a spot on the council, even if you ain't got a vote."

It makes me frustrated, though I am not about to complain. What really matters is having our voices heard. I don't know enough about this place, or the people in it to actually be able to decide the things they do. Banishments in particular, but even something as simple as curfew and who gets to move up to Runner status, and how long someone can work before they are entitled to a break. I am content simply to sit and listen, and speak.

"Why me?" I ask.

He scoffs. "Who else would it be?"

Definitely not Michelle. The other girl is barely lucid when she isn't having seizures. Dawn would not be a suitable choice either, but he doesn't know that. He didn't see what I saw. No one did.

She was kissing Minho. Lips locked, hand on hand, entangled and intertwined with each other. It looked like they couldn't stayed like that for a century, or a thousand years. At least for as long as I have known them.

My stomach dropped. Probably because if it had been Alby that had rounded that corner, she would be banished just as quickly as Michelle.

I shrug though, pretending the gears aren't rapidly whirling behind my ears. That my thoughts don't move like a cohesive, well-oiled machine, jumping from one thought to the next in a matter of seconds. He also doesn't need to know about what Dawn did. I could never tell him what she did.

Because then one of the only people I care about would be dead.

It occurs to me that I barely know her. In fact, I barely know any of them. My loyalties are to both Alby and the Gladers and the girls at the same time. I owe them as much anyway.

"So, I will represent them?" I ask one final time.

He nods, but half of me still doesn't believe him. Of course I am the only logical choice in terms of reporting to Alby, given everyone else's distinct lack of shucks to give about the rules.

As much as I don't talk, Alby talks less. I've seemed to figure out that even if I am given the opportunity to talk I won't. It's easiest for me to take in all the information around me, absorb it, and then react. Interacting with an external environment is not really one of my strong suits, so as far as I am concerned this is the best I have.

He walks up the stairs into the Homestead, and I stop following him. Inside the house there are candles lit, despite the fact that the lights went out more than hours ago.

"Why are you awake?" It never occurred to me that he is up at just as late of an hour as I am. No one else has seen even the sliver of light that bleeds out the cracks behind the blinds.

He pauses as he grips the silver door handle. In the moonlight, you would imagine it to glint like silver, but it is dull and matted. Much like the peeling paint on the building and the creaking windows that block out light instead of letting it in, nothing here is like I imagine it ought to be.

Nothing is beautiful.

He sighs. "It's been a long two years."

I am about to leave him to his business, when he nods at me to follow him inside. It's something I barely manage to do, given his ominous behaviour, and the way that doubt floats in the air and settles on my skin. Colder than the night, it makes me wish my shirt was somehow thicker, and everything somewhat warmer.

"What is it you need?" I ask the boy.

"It's that pipsqueak of a Greenie," he answers. "Whatever her name is."

My feet follow his up the stairs, and I can't think of a word to speak. Sure, there are probably hundreds and thousands to describe the nerves that are compiling in my stomach, but none that I can find. I imagine I have forgotten them.

I stand on the edge of the doorframe, holding on to the light brown wood. He enters the room, and stares at me when I don't follow him. It's not her comatose state I am afraid of, it is the responsibility that comes along with it.

Normally I feel powerless. It is a circumstance I not only comprehend, but accept. In almost everything that has happened to me in my short time here has been completely out of my control. If I go and there and she is dying, there is nothing anyway can do to save her. We are all just slaves to time, and the Maze that surrounds us. Powerless sheep to be herded along.

"What's wrong with her?" I ask him, waiting for an answer.

He shrugs, and when he does I move in to get a better look at her. She lies stiff and still under the covers. Her breathing is soft yet audible, and I can't help but feel like a voyeur staring at her. People aren't supposed to stare at each other without the other knowing. Especially when someone is suffering. We are born to help.

I am not very helpful.

"She's still out," he answers questions I haven't begun to form. "We're beginning to think she isn't going to wake up."

That's absurd. She can't just stop. People don't just simply stop existing in the bat of one eye. Alby is not a doctor; there's no way he knows what he is talking about.

"She's probably just sleeping it off," my breath puffs out my mouth as I lie. "She is breathing after all."

I know that is not entirely a truth. I mean, honestly honesty is subjective. In my lifetime, I will never know the truth. People in power constantly hide it from the masses. It's how they have power over them. I know I will never know the truth, so what is the big deal if I don't speak it to others, especially if it is to their own benefit.

"You're lying."

Alby is very familiar with power. After all, he is in charge of the Glade. He must be familiar with lying to the Gladers to keep them safe. Which means I can't hide from him. Especially not if I want to win a vote someday. For now, I have no power, but Alby is the tool to getting it.

"I know." I tell him.

"We'll keep her as long as she's alive. We ain't putting her down like a dog." Alby looks at me over his shoulder. "We're Gladers, the only thing we have is order."

"Good that." He's right. The second we lose power is the second we lose any sense of humanity. This is all we have, so we had better maintain it for as long as we can.

He smiles at me. "You know, you make be a shucking Greenie girl, but you get it. A lot of shanks here still don't give a shuck about the rules."

I don't know that a give a shuck about the rules, but I know how to play his game. Doesn't mean I am on his side, or agree with anything he has to say, but as long as he thinks I do I am in the clear.

"So when she wakes up, and Michelle gets out, they're my responsibility?" I look to him to confirm the statement.

When he nods I sigh.

Alby laughs, and when I give him a look he answers. "It's funny, because anybody who wants power shouldn't have it, anybody who doesn't want it is ready to have it. Never really thought about it until I became first-in-command. Most of those shucking Keepers are entitled, with a few exceptions here and there. Didn't think you'd be one entitled shank either."

"I'm not ready." I say, but I hope he is right.


	23. I'm swimming

2 Dawn

"We've got to talk about what happened."

It's early morning, and I am tired, but I am awake in the Deadheads next to Minho. I can barely see him in the dim lighting. At this time, only the Runners should be awake. It makes it easy for me to stand next to him, and talk about secrets without anyone finding out.

"Really?" I laugh, not bothering to look at the boy. Instead, I focus my attention on a leaf hanging off a tree. My fingers graze it but I do not rip the green off of its stem. "You seemed really keen not to speak to me after Michelle almost got banished."

"I was trying to save her," he tells me, and I can tell he is slightly offended by my accusation.

From here I can make out all the individual lines on the leaf. I can seem the stem, and all the veins in the green of the tree. Is it called a petal? It looks as beautiful as the flower.

Somehow even a tree holds a universe. There is so much I want to see, and instead I am stuck here in a forest, with a boy who will barely give me the time of day.

"Trying to save her after she was saved?" I almost laugh but I can feel the burning in the back of my throat. "Look, I didn't expect you to come running to me, but you actively avoided me. I tried to find you."

In the silence I can hear the tension in his shoulders. The uneasiness in his skin makes me crack my neck. I'm trying to be mad, and frustrated. Why does Minho think he can just simply ignore me?

"I know."

It's not an answer I want to hear, and I doubt it is an answer he wants to say. I understand he doesn't have to want me, or to kiss me again, or whatever, but he can't just avoid me. We are trapped inside Walls, and while there may be a universe in between these Walls, there is an even bigger universe outside. Relatively, it would be nearly impossible for us to avoid each other.

He knows it too. He has been here much longer than I have. In fact, he knows more about how their whole system functions. Not that I care. There is much more to learn about than silly politics.

"Why?"

It's simple. Why has he been avoiding me? It's a question I can't help but ask. I imagine it's because of me. Sure, it possibly could be because of him, but I can hear his explanation now. It was just a spur of the moment thing, and it meant nothing, and he shouldn't have done it. Besides, his precious leader would never condone his actions, which means they were wrong.

That I am not the right choice to make.

I turn around to face him. He begins to choke for an answer out of his mouth but none ever comes. When I raise my brow at him, he raises one back.

"What do you want me to say?" There is a little bit of a pointed stance in his question, but he is genuinely asking.

What do I want him to say? Well, I want him to say so many things. I want him to say he sees the stars in my eyes, and feels the static in my skin. I wish for him to wish for me, in every shape and form and to crave my lips like they are his only salvation.

That's how I feel about him. I know I barely know him. In fact, I barely know anything there is to know at all. However, I know that when I see his eyes they look warm and content. He must be a good person, because he fought Gally on Michelle, and he stood up for me. He helped me in the Maze when I was alone, and saved me from a Griever. Maybe he doesn't crave the stars like I do, but he is willing to climb with me to see them. I think it's that which matters.

None of that is important if that is not who I am to him. I am not a star, nor the need to explore. What I am, is a girl, in a place surrounded by boys. No matter how I feel, I have to understand that I am a new and shiny object, one that attracts attention but has no permanent place. There is no single part of me that doesn't want him to say that he wants to be with me.

Even though I want him to say the truth.

"You're the one who said we have to talk." I answer, shrugging my shoulders. "You found me."

He's a few feet away from me, and he steps closer so he can talk in a hushed voice. His body is still too far away for him to reach out and touch me, no matter how much I want him to reach forward.

He may have come and found me and dragged me out here, but I still am the one who asked him a question. I am still the one who begs for an answer.

"Look, you're only a Greenie," he begins. "You don't really know the Glade or how it works, and you may have seen a Griever but I don't think you understand the consequences of being banished."

"I definitely do." Where is he going with this? "I saw what they did to Michelle. They put a collar on her. Shuck, not that I like her but that is mad."

"Look, I'm saying I messed up when I kissed you."

I'm flustered. Not in the way that I want to be, in an embarrassed because he likes me, but in a flabbergasted that he is apologising. The last thing he needs to do is say he shouldn't have kissed me. I get that banishing is a big deal, but no one caught us. At least, not anyone I worry about.

Maybe this is his way of saying that he isn't interested in me. Maybe he is saying this so it is easy.

"First things first, I kissed you." I answer, and he steps closer when I say it as he shushes me. He reaches for me but I swat his arm away. "Second, we aren't going to get banished. Leo isn't going to say anything."

"Who's to say next time someone else won't see?"

I feel a grin playing on my face. He just gave himself away entirely. Minho laid all his cards on the table for me to read at my own leisure. Fact of the matter is, I am so very happy he did.

"Who said there was going to be a next time?"

He looks away off into the forest, and then down at the ground. I wait for the flush of pink to reach his cheeks but it never does. When he looks at me his gaze seems serious, but I am doing nothing but beaming.

"Dawn..." he begins. The words seem to cause his throat to clamp up. He can't help but stare at me. As if he can see beneath my skin.

Every time he says my name I can feel it in my chest. He doesn't finish his sentence because my lips are on his.

I'm happy when he doesn't push me off. Instead, I wrap my hands around his face, feeling the soft stubble that runs along his cheeks. He runs his hands down my arms, until they find their way into the fabric of my shirt. He takes the material up into his hands, holding on to me tightly, before slipping his hands up the back of my shirt. His hands may be callused, and his face may have stubble, but he feels soft against me.

I imagine I feel much softer than he does. When I break to breathe he is the one who pulls me back in. I wonder if he craves me like I crave him. He feels like the ocean, and I can feel myself craving his cool touch, and the freedom he brings. He seems like the sun, bright and full of everything I need to truly live.

Because it is with him that I feel like I am living. A lot of the boys treat life here like it is only about surviving. I can survive; I could do it any day. With Minho however, I feel like I am living.

I laugh slightly, and he laughs too. We pull back, our foreheads resting on each other's, simply giggling. I don't know what he finds so funny, and I'm not entirely sure what I find funny either. Maybe it is the ridiculousness of being banned from kissing, or maybe it is how I was frustrated with him seconds ago, but whatever it is seems to be behind me.

I am not going to let anyone stop me from kissing Minho.

"Are we really doing this?" He chuckles. "I mean, shuck me if I don't. I'd be an idiot. I am an idiot if I do though anyway."

Minho pauses, giving himself a second to stare at me. "We can't do this."

I shake my head and pull him in for another kiss. It is brief but sweet.

He pulls back, trying to look at me. "You, know, if we get busted-"

"If Alby is so mad about us kissing, he should be the one to go sleep with the Grievers."

Minho laughs, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Glancing around, hands wringing; he can't focus.

"Did you mean-"

"Yes."

It's a simple answer, and he starts laughing again. When he looks at me though, he quickly kisses me. He shakes his head, trying to stop laughing. It wasn't that funny I didn't think, but I imagine he knows Alby quite a bit better than I do.

"You're going to wake up the whole Glade if you keep at that." I tell him trying to get him to slim it.

"Sorry." He makes a quick attempt to recover, even though he has to clear his throat. His hands are still planted firmly on my waist, and he won't let them go. When he's finally done, he leans into me, looking at me.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask.

His back tenses, and so do his arms. Slowly, they pull themselves off of me. He shrugs his shoulders backwards, biting his lip.

"I don't know," he begins. "I think this is scarier than you think it is."

"It can't be," I sigh, leaning backwards. I can't help but stare at his arms. My body feels haunted by his absence. A warmth quick and fleeting. I realise that he is easily going to slip through my fingers, and I won't be able to do anything about it.

"It is," he shakes his head back and forth, before looking up at the trees. "Klunk."

I watch him look. Watch him study the branches, waiting for the sky to crumble down on top of them. Honestly, I get that banishment is serious, but no one would ever do it to us. No one ever could. I don't quite understand why he needs more confirmation. Was I not clear enough when I kissed him? I thought that going my point across quite clearly.

"We can slow down," I offer. "If that's what this is."

He mutters something to himself, before he looks back down. "It wouldn't hurt."

"Oh yeah?"

"Maybe," he doesn't move off. He isn't letting go of me, even though he is trying too and I can't help but shake my head at the absurdity of him.

"You had probably better get going." I tell him, glancing up at the sun between the trees. "After all, Mr. Keeper of the Runners shouldn't be late."

"I don't think I could go if I wanted to," he shrugs, eyes pleading into mine.

"Minho." I don't know how to reason with him.

He let's out one final sigh. His balls his hands into fists, and his knuckles crack. "Friends?"

I nod carefully. For a second, he reaches forward, but then turns his back. When he turns away to head off, I can't help but move after him. I am about to grab his hand when he turns to face me.

"Wait," he begs. He pulls his hand back. "Tonight?"

"Tonight." I agree, a faint smile on my face. He confuses me.

He nods, and moves before turning around back to face me. "Tomorrow night?"

For a second I wonder what he is doing, but I can ask later. I nod firmly at him, before he shakes his head and slips out of the trees.


	24. I'm tentative

23 Michelle

The days are beginning to blur into the nights now that I am in a room alone. They sent over Leo to bandage me. She tried to speak to me but I wouldn't say a word. I couldn't. Not when she almost got me killed.

Sure, she tried to vote against my execution, but she didn't stop it. Her feet didn't move, and she didn't pounce up ready to fight. Words aren't weapons. They are simple things without power. People assign them the ability to have weight and strength, but they mean nothing. It's imaginary.

How could things have strength that aren't tangible?

She also tried to talk to me about the pipsqueak. Something about a spasms, or sleeping, I tried my best to ignore every word that exited her lips. I imagine everything that she says has to pass through a filter. Their leader really is the one with control. He only has it because she gives it to him, but she gives it none the less. I doubt anyone has heard a free thought come out of her mouth.

They said three days. I am on my first. The sun rose this morning, and when the sun rises after the next day, I will be free. Not that I will actually be free, since I will still be trapped in this thing after all. It's all something they made up to keep me obedient.

Sure, after this I'm not going to rip apart trees to shred, or attack any boys, but that's just because I want to keep being alive. I didn't really learn a lesson from all of this, except that their system is unjust. The way they live, the way they make me live, it's not fair. It's not based in reason or in fact, or any shape or sort of similar thing.

It's a pain being in here, because if I want to so much as take a klunk I have to call. No one ever comes. Last time it took me an hour to get a guards attention, and another hour before he actually took me to the bathroom. They're lucky I have some dignity, and didn't decide to make a mess for them to clean up.

The sun is already setting yet no one has brought me food since the sun rose. It's funny, because even if I am being provided no attention I still feel like I am being treated better in here then I am out there. At least in here there are no lingering eyes, no brutal hands, and no collapsing buildings.

No boys.

The latch on the door clangs, and I scramble back to the wall. At least I thought there were no boys.

A boy stumbles in out from the darkening glade. The door drags along the ground, the cement weighing it down. He spins on his heels before pulling the handle and latch shut.

I can tell who it is, but I am surprised. He is taller than me, and I never really payed much attention to his height before now. I don't think he is actually tall, it seems I am actually pretty short.

I only notice his height because he blocks out the sun that cracks through the small bars in the door. The dirty and bloody walls seem even grittier in the dark. The sun passes just past the lines in his face, sharpening his jaw and his nose.

He turns his head to face me. In the dim lighting, his face looks less red than usual. He seems much less angry, and he looks down on the ground.

I'm not going to speak first, but it seems he isn't either. I stare down the wall behind him. My bloody handprints drag down the sides of the concrete on both sides of the door. He stands perfectly between the two prints.

When he looks up at me he crosses his arms. He sighs before he speaks.

"I know David lied." As he says the words, they curl out of his mouth into a snarl.

I don't know who David is, so I stare at a wall and wait for him to continue. What he wants me to do is respond, but I cock my head to the side. I can feel my hair falling around my face as I peek through it at him.

"You stole the screwdriver, not him," he steps forward.

That's David. The one who stepped forward and changed Gally's mind. The one who moved me out of the way of the collapsing building. David's the boy who has been helping me.

I shrug, looking at Gally. "It doesn't matter."

"You stole from me." He answer as he steps closer to me. "It definitely does matter."

No it doesn't. David told a lie because somebody else told a lie. I did not attack the baggers. They made that up as part of a weird conspiracy against me. Everyone here hates my guts and wants to see me either locked up, or locked out. I am not a big fan of being either of those things.

"Is that the only reason you saved me?" I demand.

He stiffens at that. When he looks away I can feel that his answer is yes. Its fine, I saw it coming. Up until this point the only person I have been able to rely on completely is myself. Leo proved herself to be untrustworthy, that other chick doesn't get anything done, Alby and his men are against me, and so I can't say I am surprised that Gally hasn't changed.

After all, he is the first boy who locked me up. He didn't want me to be a Builder in the first place. At every turn he fought against me, and glared at me. Why exactly am I surprised that he didn't change his mind for any other reason?

"No," he sighs, wiping his face with his hands, "it's not."

It's my turn to tense up. I don't back up, and when he steps closer his voice gets quieter. As if he is worried someone is eavesdropping.

Or as if he doesn't want to even hear what he is saying.

"Alby is off the handle," Gally answers. "It's only a matter of time before someone tries to take the seat as first-in-command."

I almost laugh, but I can't find the ability to laugh at the boy in front of me. "You're gunning for first-in-command?"

He shakes his head, trying to explain. "No, I'd never get it. Newt, Minho, they are bigger contenders. Well respected, well liked. The both of them hate me, so if I want to keep my shucking spot as Keeper, I've got to stay on their good sides."

"Why are you here?" I ask, stepping closer to him. Unlike Gally, my voice gets louder the closer I get. I'm close enough to him that I could hit him and take a chunk out of his cheek. I'm also close enough that if he hit me I couldn't stop him.

I know he doesn't want to answer. What he wants to do is get close to me and then manipulate me into doing what he wants. That isn't really my style though. I'm in on the plan. I will not be tricked or deceived in any shape or form. Not by Alby, not by Leo, and certainly not by Gally.

"Listen, nobody likes us." He says it plainly.

As far as I know it's true. The builders, the council, and assumingly everybody else is always fighting against Gally. Nobody in any group is sticking their neck out for me either. He has my attention.

"Alby wasn't in charge until three weeks before you showed up. One of the first thing he does is ban the boys from touching any of you, so he isn't exactly in a good seat. When he flies off the handle, or banishes somebody for looking at you wrong, Newt will be in charge. I bet it'll Minho will step up to be his second in command."

"Who are they?"

He looks at me funny before rolling his eyes. "Blonde, accent, that's Newt. Keeper of the Runners, Asian guy, that's Minho."

They both were voting to keep me safe over Alby the other night. Why? As far as I know neither of them like or trust me. They are gunning for his seat.

"When they are in power, they'll stop fighting for you," he answers. "They're the ones who sent you to work with me. Have you exactly enjoyed your time with the Builders?"

"It's not as bad as out there." I say, gesturing outside.

He scoffs, shocked. "Seriously? Every single Builder is trying to slide into your hammock. I'm surprised I'm the first one to bribe my way into here. Locked in a room with the feisty ginger? It sounds just like any guy's shucking dream."

I hadn't realised. That's why David has been sticking up for me. He wants to get all up inside me. I shudder at the thought.

"Why are you helping me?" I demand.

"Because I'm the only person as universally hated as you." He says it like it is, and I furrow my brow when I realise I respect that.

That's the truth, but it's not the whole truth. When I cross my arms, Gally rolls his eyes and sighs. He scratches the back of his neck before looking up at me.

"Those two other girls are sneaking up on Minho and Newt." He eventually spits it out. "That brunette has already snuggled up all close to Alby, and I bet you she is going after Newt next. That blonde is worse. She spends all her time with Minho, Frypan, and any Glader who will give her the time of day. If Minho doesn't get the spot as second, it's gonna be Fry, no questions asked."

Are they really? Leo is always with the Medjacks, and I've never really payed attention to her. She does seem to talk to the leaders more than any of the rest of us though. I'd be blind to say I hadn't notice the blonde hanging off of every guy she talks to. I had only noticed her Keeper, but there have to be others.

That's why they didn't want me to confront Alby on his spying. It's because they want to be good and safe when he goes out the window. They'll throw me under the bus to get their safety.

"So what?" I ask.

He cracks his shoulders. "So, you and I team up. We don't cause any more trouble. Keep our heads down, and our necks out for each other. I'll keep you posted on news from the Keepers and the Builders, so long as you keep me in tabs on those girls. I don't care how you shucking do it, but get in on their business."

It takes me a second, but I nod.

Gally looks at me for a second, before sticking his hand out towards me.

I take it, and I shake it.


	25. I'm missing

24 Ella

I am awake.

My body shoots straight up in the bed. It is bright out, and my room is empty. The sun shines in through the window next to me. When I look around, I don't see the smoke man. He is gone. Evaporated into the air that he was made up of.

Even though it should make me feel safe, it doesn't. Though he has disappeared, the smoke man is still here. The smoke man is everywhere, and everything at the same time.

The light that streams through the window casts a beam into the room. It shines onto the white covers on my feet, and it illuminates all the dust in the air.

For some reason, it feels darker than ever.

"Hello."

I leap out of bed at the sound of that voice.

I remember her.

Her laugh rings out, and I remember listening to its melody on the gloomiest of days. I remember the bedroom we lied in, and the smoke man waiting outside. I remember the flower that was on the brown dresser, and the white walls that surrounded us.

"You still are clumsy, even in the new life."

If she thinks this is a new life, she is wrong. This is a new death. When I peek up over the mattress, I see her sitting in a chair next to my bed. She, like the smoke man, is not here. At the end of it all the smoke man was truly seeing mel, but I know for certain that she is truly not.

"What?" She shakes her head, "forgot how to talk?"

I duck back down behind the covers. My back is against the bed I was just lying in, and I can feel my chest heaving.

She feels much more real than the smoke man, even though he was more real than her. The smoke man has a way of wrapping himself around my mind. He suffocates and controls, even though I knew him to be a fabrication of my own subconscious. She, however, feels real in the room. The space she occupies feels empty without her in it, and my mind feels blank without her words.

When I close my eyes and breathe, I can see what she looked like. I can see her pale skin, and her blonde hair, and her sheets that surround her. I can hear her humming in the dark, and I can hear her humming now.

She isn't in the chair when I peek back over. She isn't there anymore, but she is still humming. It's a tune that is all too familiar to me.

I leap over the bed, heading to the door. If I can follow her voice, I can find her. Once I find her, I can apologise for letting her slip between my fingers. She was so many things, and I was a fool for taking my eyes off her.

"You didn't."

She is speaking, calling for me as I run down the stairs. Leaping, bounding down the stairs, I follow her voice out of the Homestead and into the Glade.

Everything is green. The porch is brown, sure, but the grass is the greenest it has ever been. She isn't even here and she is bringing the colour back to the Glade. Scaring away the grey man second by second. I can see him sinking out of the boys here. Sure, his colour still remains, but it isn't as strong as it once was.

"I did." I whisper it just for her.

My ears snap, as I can hear a scream. It's not the nearly fake-real hers is though. It's an echo of a memory long forgotten. I can't tell who it is. It could be her, it could be me, or it could be a completely different girl. The scream is grey, and I can feel the smoke man at the center of it all. He's pulling the strings to my story.

Even if he is gone, I will always be his puppet. A million years from now, when the human race is dead and gone, I will still belong to him.

Not a million. Maybe not even a decade.

"Ella," the voice swims around me, and as I spin I can't tell where it is coming from.

She could be anywhere, but I know she is not here. When the smoke man takes them, they do not come back.

She was one of the first to go.

"It's fine."

My knees drop beneath me, and I can feel my head spinning. This is what happened last time. I can't afford to risk collapsing again. I was out for at least a while.

But she is so very worth the pain.

Someone's arms are on me, trying to support me. When I look up it is the brunette, and she is looking down at me. I feel her hand on my face, feeling my cheeks and my forehead.

"You're awake." She breathes it out, as if she is startled.

Her humming is gone, and with it her. I peer around over the brunette's shoulder to see if she is anywhere, but she has returned to the air from where she came. When I stand up, the brunette follows me up.

"You should be lying down." She tells me. "We still aren't sure why you fainted."

If I told her it was the smoke man, she wouldn't believe me. I could even tell her it was the violet girl, but she wouldn't know who it is I am talking about. None of them are the violet girl anyway. They are my coalition.

Right, I have a responsibility to these girls.

"Sorry, Leo."

She seems even more startled as I talk to her. I assume she has heard my voice before. I know she has, I've spoken in a room with her before. Not to her, I don't think.

The smoke man makes everything fuzzy. I couldn't really tell you up from down when he is in the room. He has a way of making everything cement. Thick, heavy, and the blandest of colours.

Leo's colour is much more vibrant since I last saw her. Sure, the grey is still seeping in at the corners of our existence. I can't tell if it is the violet girl who has returned her brightness, or if it is the confidence that keeps her spine straight.

"Leo?"

I nod, and she nods right back. Rubbing her hands together, I watch her bite her lip.

"Right, well," I know she doesn't know where she is going. "We need to check you out."

She heads back towards the Homestead, and I follow after her.


	26. I'm here

25 Leo

"It's true that she woke up?"

The log creaks and groans as Newt sits down next to me.

For some reason, the boys here insist upon having a bonfire every night. Their drinking habits depend on the mood, and the evening, but today seems to be going well. Dawn sits on the other side of me with a glass. She slowly slips the liquid, much different from her usual radical behaviour.

Across the fire a few Builders shove each other around on the log. Though they create noise, it had been eerily quiet.

Dawn must've stolen the liquid. I watch her eyes dart around over the top of the glass, looking for something. She barely notices me staring at her. Whatever she is looking for has enraptured her full attention for hours. I've never seen her this quiet before.

Then again, I've never seen her before really. It's only slightly off.

"Leo?"

My eyes let go of her as I turn to see Newt. "Sorry?"

"The girl." He asks as he furrows his brow. "Tiny, quiet-"

"Awake," Dawn says.

She raises the liquid, slamming it down her throat. When she is done, she lets the empty glass fall to the ground. It doesn't break or shatter, it only thuds against the dirt. In a second she is up and walking away from us.

Her hair shakes down her back as she rips it out of the ponytail. The long blonde strands bounce, and flow in the cool night air.

"Leo?"

I snap my eyes away from her, which is so very hard, turning to look at Newt. He has a puzzled grin on his face, one that he wears with a grin and the shake of his head.

"Sorry," I try to give him half a smile but he doesn't buy the gesture for half a second. "Can you repeat what you said?"

"I asked if she was alright," he adjust himself so he is looking me more head on, "but maybe I should be asking you that question."

I can't maintain the contact he holds with me, so I look down at my lap and back at Dawn. I catch a glimpse of her heading into the Deadheads. I find my feet beneath me, standing up to get a better look at her. Is she going in there alone? It's dark, and only getting darker the farther she moves from the bonfire.

"Leo?"

I can feel his hand on mine, and when I spin around we both recoil from the touch. Newt can't really meet my eyes. Instead, he chooses to scratch the back of his neck with his hands. I swallow, biting the inside of my cheek as I stare him down.

"Sorry, I just-"

"It's fine." I tell him.

Really, it is fine. Nothing is happening that he should be apologising for. He was just trying to get my attention, like everyone else here. Why is he always so skittish?

"Do you want to talk?"

"Sure," I shrug, waiting for him to move.

The Builders have become quiet since I stood up. Crackling fires, and the air whistling through my hair fills the space between Newt and I.

"Right." I can hear him breathing as he turns around. 

The ground crunches beneath his feet as he moves around the log, and out to the other side of the Homestead. I pull a strand of hair off my face, tucking it back behind my ear before I follow him forward. The Builders are laughing behind me, and for a second I have to turn and look to make sure they aren't laughing at me.

One of them fell on the ground.

I turn away, adjusting the green button-up I'm wearing with my hands as I step around the log. When I round the corner, I see Newt looking back and waiting for me.

"Sorry, Leo," he begins. "I don't mean to be so-"

"Odd?"

"Quiet," he corrects, crossing his arms. "You think I'm behaving oddly?"

"Well," I shake my head, avoiding making eye-contact as I move up closer to him. "You've sort've been on edge since Michelle was almost banished."

He nods. It's true. Normally he and I don't really talk much, but whenever he sees me since that event he stands slightly further away. I've seen him speak to Dawn normally, and hang around the bed of the younger girl without saying a word. For some reason he can't be near me.

"People are talking." He begins, as we move closer to the Walls.

I don't like being near them, in the day time or in the night. It sends shivers up my spines and waves of nerves across my arms. I know that just on the other side of this stone could be a monster, waiting to tear me to shreds. Here, I am too close to danger.

Dawn was almost killed out there. I don't want anyone to be next.

"I mean, people have mouths for that reason." It's a poor attempt at a joke, and we both know that I've failed. Whatever is happening isn't funny. Newt isn't laughing, and I'm not laughing. Of course people are talking, but generally when they do so nothing but bad things happen. People are like that. They can't be trusted.

"About you," he begins. "There's a rumour going around that you're a Keeper now."

I'm not. "Well, we both know that's not true."

"Right," he continues, "but people are still talking. They think you are, getting a little close to the Keepers. To have a say. Do you catch what I am-"

"People think I am shucking sleeping with you?" I demand.

He stops in his tracks, and shushes me with a finger to his lips. How can he be so calm?

"No, they think you are sleeping it up with Alby."

Oh, that's great. Alby is decent and all, but he is nothing incredibly special. I'm mostly just trying to get on his good side. He can think I am sleeping Alby all he wants, but there is no way I am doing that. Does he believe that?

"You don't seriously think-"

"Of course not," he answers. "It was some slinthead who started it, probably because they're mad about Alby's new rule. Of course it's a load of klunk. I just wanted to warn you, that's all."

I look up at Newt. I realise I don't really know much about the second-in-command. Sure, I trust him. Newt has done nothing but stick up for me and the other girls since we first got here. Even right now, he's risking a bit of his reputation to come and talk to me about this rumour.

It feels like I've been here way longer than seven days. So far, every minute feels like a century.

"Thank you."

He seems a bit surprised by my words. "Greenie, you've got nothing to thank me for. I'm not doing anything."

"You stuck out your neck for Michelle," I begin. "You've been looking out for the tiny girl as well, and I assume you and Dawn are friends."

"As much as Dawn is with everyone else." He jokes.

Right. Dawn likes to laugh and party with pretty much everything and anything she can get her hands on. Like her Keeper, and the Keeper of the Runners.

Her and Minho. Did she go to meet him in the forest? Is that why she is so sour and upset? Was he late? She can't just keep running to him, especially when there are rumours running around, and Michelle was almost banished. Honestly, she is so reckless.

"Are there any rumours about her?" I ask.

He furrows his brow, as he looks up. "Dawn? No, nobody's been talking about her. Probably because they all have hope they can still get with her."

If only they knew.

The thought of guys all going after gone leaves a pit in my stomach and an itch on my shoulder. It's gross, right? That's what this is?

"Are you alright?" He asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

I laugh, looking back up at Newt. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just, stressed out."

He nods, looking back at me. "I get it. It's hard to be in charge. I only became second a couple weeks ago, after Nick died. He was in charge before Alby."

I knew that. I can tell Alby only just got in charge, but with Newt it's different. He takes his role pretty seriously, and seems to know what to do in every and any situation that arises.

"What did you do before you were second?" I ask.

He shrugs, before he sighs. "I was a Track-hoe."

"Zart became Keeper when you became second?"

He shakes his head, looking at the ground, before back at me. "No."

I can't hold the eye contact with him, so I look away, but he keeps speaking.

"I was Keeper of the Runners before I went to work for Zart."

Newt used to be a Runner? I never knew he had even left the Glade, let alone he was Keeper of the boys who did it. He must've had to stop because of his limp. Because something got to him in the Maze.

When I look up at him, I see him looking past me at the bonfire. I spin to see Alby strolling in, and yelling at a couple of the boys on the log.

"What's going on?" I ask.

Newt shrugs beside me. "My guess, something new is coming out about Michelle. Alby found out the bruise on the Bagger was fake."

"What?" I spin around to stare at Newt.

He looks down at me. "Yeah, sorry I should've told you when I found out. They just smeared dirty and blueberries or something on the guy's face. Michelle never swung at them. She's coming out tomorrow."

So she was minding her own business in the Deadheads when they found her, and started attacking her? Did she even steal the screwdriver, or cause damage? There is no grounds for a banishment.

"Alby is lucky Gally changed his vote."

Newt shakes his head. "No, he's not."

"Why? If word had gotten out that the charges on Michelle were fabricated, and he had banished her, he'd lose his seat on the council." I say. "Or much worse."

Newt nods. "Yeah, but now with Gally siding with us, it looks like we are trying to take over Alby's seat. We aren't."

"You're politics are ridiculous." I sit on the ground in a huff.

Newt laughs, before he squats down slightly behind me. He doesn't say a word, but I can hear his shuffling, and I can feel him behind me.

I look up and lie down in the grass, staring up at the stars. They are so far away, but they are the only thing I see that is different around here. I've been here a week and almost know the Glade like the back of my hand. There are so many stars however, and I don't know if I will ever recognise them all.

"You're doing the right thing." Newt tells me. "By taking on leadership I mean."

I don't know that I am.

He's lying down next to me, so when I turn to look at him, I realise how close we are.

"You can't know that." I tell him, as hair falls into my face. "You don't know the first thing about me. I don't know the first thing about you."

"I'll go first." He begins. "My name is Newt, I'm second-in-command. I know I talk like a bloody idiot, but now that Dawn's here I know I'm at least not the only one. My favourite colour is red, and my favourite time of day is 9:00PM."

I scrunch up my nose. "Why?"

"No, it's your turn." He cuts me off. "Don't you understand how the game works? Tell me about yourself."

"I don't know who I am." I answer, almost laughing.

"Sure, you do." He rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore me. "Come on Leo."

"Fine," I sigh, though I'm not actually mad about it. What am I going to say? "I'm Leo. For some reason I represent the girls that came up here. I've exist for a week, which is to say no time at all."

"Leo, you are doing it all wrong," Newt sighs, propping himself up on to his elbow. "Tell me about you."

"I am." My voice gets higher as I say it, because I am both shocked and confused at his response.

"You're just saying facts that I could tell you." He shakes his head as he persists. "No, tell me about who you are."

This is a lot harder than I thought.  
He nods at me as he stares me down, prompting me to go forward. I can't say it and look at him.

"Right, before I was so rudely interrupted," I tease. "I said I was Leo. I'm a Med-Jjack, because I care about people. That's probably why I am okay with being in charge. I want to learn about how to help people, and I know I can't do it yet. When the Walls first closed, I about klunked my pants, not literally but you get it. I'm scared pretty easily. About the future, and the Walls, and about being in charge."

When I look at him, I see how he is no longer smiling. He is staring at me. His eyes focused on mine, his mouth slightly agape. He is waiting for me to keep going, and as I stop a smile shows up slightly on his face.

"I don't want to be in charge," I continue. "That's what Alby said would make me a good leader. I don't think that he's really right about that. A good leader is selfless. I'm not, but I want to be."

"You want to be a good leader, or you want to be selfless?"

When Newt asks me thr question, his normal playful demeanor is gone, but so is his serious one. He stares at me without firmness in his hand or a joke in his eye.

"I don't know." I tell him.

He reaches over to me and brushes a strand of hair out of my face.

I sit straight up, and so does he. It's him that scoots away from me though, not vice versa. He takes a second to gather himself up as he stands, and I sit on the ground looking back up at him.

"I should be going." He says.

I nod, as he leaves, walking behind me.


	27. I'm not purple

26 Dawn

It's hard to see the stars through the tree branches. I'm not sure why I find myself in the Deadheads so much. It might be because the Deadheads provide the perfect cover for me to hide in. Not that I am one for secrets, or for protecting myself in them.

I much prefer the open air, and wide space. However, I don't really have the luxury of those in the Glade. Especially not if I am sneaking around seeing a boy in secret.

"Hey," I hear his voice.

I spin around to see Minho approaching me. He smiles when I make eye-contact with him, and I shake my head to the side as I smile at him.

"Hello," I smile back at him.

He wipes his chin as he moves closer to me, trying to bite back the smile on his face. "Took you a while to get in here. Worried about someone seeing you?"

"I wasn't planning on meeting you," I nod at him, pressing my back into the tree behind me.

"I guess it's purely a happy coincidence that you did," Minho smiles. "I can't say I'm upset to see you."

"Thought you might be," I begin, watching him freeze. "After the other night."

He doesn't acknowledge my words. As if he is more fascinated by the chill of the breeze in the absence of the sun. I wait for him to say anything about that conversation, but he doesn't. Instead, his eyes hit the ground.

"It's fine," I whisper, my eyes falling down.

Minho grabs my arm, and my eyes fly up to him. He looks at my face. I can't tell if he is studying me, but I'm studying him. Brown eyes which crease. Cheeks tinged pink in the cold. Skin soft and sturdy.

"It's not fine," he manages. "It just is."

I don't want to carry on this conversation, so I move past it. "Why were you so late today."

"Someone found something today." Minho notes, shrugging over his shoulder. He recoils from me, closing up. "In the end, it turned out to be that he just ran into the wrong section, but we were pouring over the maps for hours. Stupid klunk."

Right, he still runs out in that Maze every day. While I'm stuck in here, baking in front of hot ovens, he is sprinting through freedom. I can only imagine what the feeling must be like in his fingertips, since I haven't tasted it since I got back to the Glade.

"How does it feel?" I ask.

He cracks a laugh, before stepping even closer. "Being here with you? Pretty spectacular, a bit dangerous, and pretty cold."

"Being a Runner," I ignore him, even though he has moved so close I can feel his breath on my face. "You know, being out there. No Gladers, no rules, no responsibilities."

"You're shucking crazy if you think I'm not worrying out there."

He's mostly kidding, and he doesn't say it with any animosity, but I can't imagine that he is right. Trapped between these Walls, it's a wonder I haven't got mad yet.

"There's nothing in here." I tell him, looking around. "I'd kill to be out there."

He shakes his head, before sitting down in front of me. I follow him down to the ground.

"The Maze is shucking awful," He doesn't look at me, but as he speaks I can feel his hands fiddling with the cuff on the bottom of my pants. "Really."

"Yeah, I saw those Grievers," I begin.

He shakes his head, as his hand migrates to the laces on my shoes. My eyes flicker to his, but he doesn't watch me. Maybe he doesn't realise he is touching me."It's not like that. Those damn Grievers ain't the whole problem."

"What is?" I ask.

"It's the pressure, Dawn." He looks up at me as he says it. "Out here, in the Deadheads, it feels like I can breathe."

"It's claustrophobic," I roll my eyes.

"Maybe, but its safe," he sighs. I don't think he likes it anymore than I do. He looks down at the ground, listening to the silence. "Are you serious about running?"

Am I serious? Being a Runner means the wind in my hair. It means sprinting and rounding corners, and thinking and reacting. If I were a Runner, I would be free for hours a day, without having to worry about deadlines and burning bread.

Am I serious? Of course I am.

"Yes."

"It's not what you think it is." He stares me down, waiting for me to protest before he continues. "You're too pretty to be out their like a lab rat. It's not right."

"Being pretty has nothing to do with it," I shake my head.

He nods. "That came out wrong. I wasn't saying you can't fight because you're pretty. I'm just saying, you are pretty and also deserve better.

"Besides, everyone depends on us to find a way out. One slip up, one wrong turn, and you are dead. Nobody survives a night out there. Everyday it is a race to the finish line. It's not freedom out there. Every step is calculated and preplanned."

"I thought Runners didn't play by the book." I joke, looking him up and down.

"I don't." He nods in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. "Else I wouldn't be here with you."

"Thought we were just friends." I begin.

He doesn't answer, eyes drifting further away. Not that I blame him. I don't get what he is so afraid of. The Gladers have no reason to kill us, not that they should want to.

"You're too serious." I joke, standing up quickly.

He rolls his eyes, before following me up. He maintains a respectful distance. An arms length away. One arm further back.

"No shanks ever called me such a nasty word," he shakes his head, a grin on his lips. "I'm just trying to tell you what you are getting into."

"I know what I'm doing," I tease back. "You are all like "if you step out there you will die-""

"I am not," Minho steps closer to me, inviting me into his space. In these few seconds, he loses himself.

"Yes," I argue, stepping closer. "Yes you are. You said exactly "Dawn, out in that Maze if you step on the ground funny it will swallow you up whole." You said that."

"I definitely did." He shakes his head at me, as he bites his lip. One more step, and our chests are almost touching "You like to put words in my mouth."

"I'm not," I tease, closing the gap. "I'm citing you on that. Exactly."

"Exactly?" He wraps an arm around my waist.

I nod, but don't answer. Quickly, his fingers leaning into my stomach, and I feel a laugh burst out of my chest.

"What was that?" I'm trying to make my voice sound serious, but I can't be serious around him. He brings out the fun in me. The laughter and the sweet talk comes out whenever he speaks.

"Nothing," he answers, before leaning further in

I flinch away, suppressing a laugh on my cheeks. It tickles, but feels almost like a Taser on my side. Is this his idea of playing around?

If it is, I'm certainly not complaining.

"But you'll put in a word for me about your 'super scary and dangerous' job." I use air quotes around the description of being a Runner.

"Yeah, sure," he answers nonchalantly, distracted. He's staring at me. "What are friends for?"

For a second, I see him tense up. He leans in closer to my mouth, and when I move in to kiss him, he backs away.

"You smell like Gally's drink." He begins it, slightly accusatory. "Are you shucking-"

"No," I laugh. "I barely remember anything from the first bonfire, and I woke up with a massive headache. Trust me, I'm not drinking that much ever again."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, peeling himself back to get a good look at me.

"No, I'm serious." I fiddle with the fraying collar of his shirt. It unravels in my fingers, much like his gaze as I play around. "I'm completely in it. One glass, that's all."

"One glass is all it takes for Fry," he answers. "Why were you even having it?"

I shrug, "I don't know. It's been a long day, and Frypan and I cracked them open after we finished cooking."

Minho nods, before loosening his grip on me. At least I know he trusts me. I'm not lying either; Frypan and I were just relaxing after Ben came in to scream at us about something in his food. Apparently there was tiny white stuff. Fry was under the impression some of the drywall in Ben's hair fell into his food and the boy was jacked. After being belittle for half an hour, I didn't particularly care why Ben was so mad though.

That's when Frypan brought out the drink.

"So, you're not-"

I shake my head, as I lean in to him. Since I'm shorter then him, only if by an inch or two, I press my lips against his chin. I can hear the air that slides out his nose and the skin on his face tighten as he smiles.

"No," I say it straight up, and I can feel him completely relaxing.

"Good," he answers. "I didn't want you to have to drink to work up the courage to talk to me."

"I wouldn't call it working up the courage."

"No? I think I'd need the courage to talk to me."

I begin to feel a grin creeping up on my face. "I still wouldn't call it courage."

"Then what would you call it?"

I shrug my shoulders, glancing past him into the dark Deadheads. "I'd call it finding the will to talk to you."

He pulls back from me, but I reach my hands up around him and pull him right back in. He's not getting away from me that easily. So long as he is willing to be near me, I am going to be near him.

When he kisses me first, I'm slightly surprised. I feel my arms wrapping up and around his neck. His lips are softer than his skin. Though they are slightly chapped, they press against me smoothly. He's so warm, and sweet, and halfway through the kiss he has to breakaway to smile.

"You are amazing Dee."

"Where am I?"

I feel Minho leap back and off of me. My heart starts to race as I look around. I can hear Minho breathing heavily, and I can see him crashed against the ground in a big heap. He looks forward, and when I spin my head up I see Curly.

She isn't facing us, in fact it seems she is walking backwards. I doubt she even saw us, but I can still see Minho panicking beside me. I can see his skin crawling up his arms, leaving his bones exposed to the girl before us.

I can feel the veins in my body popping up to the surface, as they feel like we are about to burst.

We are so very lucky.

"Are you alright?" I ask, taking a step closer towards the girl before me.

Minho is up on his feet, standing in front of me with his hands in the air. I try to roll my eyes, but I am still struggling to breathe.

"She's not going to hurt us." I hiss to him. "She's like what? Five feet tall?"

He nods, as he relaxes. "Sorry, it's an instinct."

Curly begins to spin around before she sees the two of us standing together. Even though she looks at me, her eyes seem distant and far off.

I'm supposed to be protecting her, at least I feel like it deep in my bones. Past the skin that shakes and panics and past the blood that is scared and violent, I know she is my responsibility.

We are a coalition. A team working together, united. She is my burden, just as she is Michelle's and Leo's.

She tips towards me, as I can see the blood that begins to tip out her nose. I try to leap forward past Minho, but he sprints forward and takes the girl by the shoulders. He cradles her as he lowers her to the ground.

"Go get a Med-jack," he yells at me, looking up.

"She's my responsibility," I sit down on the ground, cradling her head in my lap. "You're the Runner, run!"

He listens, getting up and moving quickly out of the forest. "I'm getting Leo."

Blood continues to drip down her face as she looks up at me.

"The purple girl, she's gone." She begins, and I can feel her dark arms gripping my skin. "She's like you. Why is she like you?"

"Sorry?" I cradle her up closer to me. I don't know what to do with girls who are coughing up blood.

It splatters onto my face, and I can only cover my eyes as she coughs. "You're not purple though. I don't feel it off of you."

"Curly it's alright," I try to reassure the girl who is breaking apart in my arms. I have no idea who she is talking about. None of us wear purple clothes.

"No, we left her," she begins. "She left us, but we left her. We've got to find her. Her voice is gone."

"Curly," I try to continue, but I hear people running up behind me.

Rounding the corner is Leo with an oil lamp in her hands. She stares at me, both my eyes and hers adjusting to the light.

"What are you doing?" She asks. "It's 3:00 am."

"She came here." I tell Leo, watching as she adjusts her shirt and rubs her eyes.

She drops the oil lamp on the ground as she bends down next to Curly.

"Do you know if she fell?" She asks, peering into Curly's eyes. "Is she lucid? How long has she been up?"

"She just showed up!" I tell her, letting her take over the girl.

"If you don't know anything, you should get out of here." She tells me. "Minho has gone to get the other Med-jacks, and it'll be hard for him to find an excuse as to why you were both out here alone, and why your hair is disheveled."

I stand up, taking my hair out of my ponytail and letting it ripple down around me. She is right, and all I can do is stare at her and Curly, who shakes violently, as I run out of the Deadheads.


	28. I'm out

27 Michelle

My skin sticks, compressed from hours of sleep, as I peel myself off the concrete. Shirt drenched in sweat, hair dirty with blood; I've never craved for anything like I crave a shower right now. I'm beginning to officially smell like a Glader, and normally I wouldn't care but I'm currently surrounded by my stench and only my stench.

The door creaks open, and I stand up, backing away and into the wall behind me. In steps the boy that I can't seem to escape. Everywhere I go he is only steps behind me and waiting. I don't want, nor do I need his help. Especially not when he grimaces at the sight of me, the foul taste of my skin reaching his tongue.

He runs a hand through his dark hair, and it stands up on end as he scratches his head. Why do all the boys here do that when they don't know what to say? It's fine just to be silent, in fact it's encouraged before doing weird things like that. At least Gally has the common decency just to stare at me like an old buffoon. This boy doesn't know the first thing about making a casual conversation, and I can tell simply by how he stands in his shoes.

They tap off the floor as he debates what to say. I don't know why he is here. He came to talk to me, obviously. Probably just another stuck up Glader who bribes those shanks that call themselves the police of the Glade. I've got no respect for the Baggers, and I don't have any respect for people who bribe them either.

"Alby is going to be here in an hour," he begins the conversation with a bit lip and a furrowed brow. The soft flesh scabs over from being chewed on to hard, over too many years. I wonder how long he has been awake.

I don't care, I barely know the boy.

At least that's what I tell myself. Unfortunately he has been nothing but helpful towards me. Heroically dashing in front of crashing buildings, and lying to save my skin. I may not know his name, but I know for some reason he has put his neck out for me.

My only question is why.

I doubt he will tell me though, he can barely speak.

"Why?" I prompt him further, unsure why he can't manage to speak. He came to me. I'm not obligated to say anything at all. If he wants to speak, then he had better get started.

"They found out the Baggers faked the bruise." He tells me, finally managing to make eye contact. "They know what they did is total klunk."

"Now they know?" I demand, surprised. "If anyone had the decency to ask me, they would've known days ago."

"The Baggers are in trouble," he tells me. "The one who faked it is being demoted to Slopper after all. Don't think they are going unpunished."

Yeah, sure they are being punished. One of them is being demoted. I was locked away for days on end, and I did nothing wrong. Except being here and being a girl. The other girls aren't getting in trouble because they are sleeping their ways to the top. At least I have some shape or form of integrity. All they have are tight shirts and pretty faces.

"So?"

"So you are being released today." He lets me know.

I scoff, running my tongue along my teeth before I look back at him. "Is that why you came here?"

"I wanted to make sure you were doing alright," the boy begins, looking around at the blood on the walls. "I know that it's hard to be locked up in here after all. You don't seem to be doing ok."

I don't need his pity, so instead of listening to him talk I turn my back. His footsteps echo off the concrete walls that surround us.

"Why are you always so distant?"

I spin around on my heels to see his startled face leaning back away from me. "Excuse me?"

His face begins to beat red. "I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Why am I so distant?" I demand, stepping closer to him. It's his turn to back away from me. "Maybe it's because you and your Builder friends stare at me every day while I'm just doing my job. Perhaps I'm mad because I've been locked up for days for something I didn't do, and boys like you keep showing up unannounced to bother me.

"Or maybe my being upset has nothing to do with you. After all, I barely know you. In fact, I don't even know your name despite having been told it multiple times. You know why? It's because I do not care about you, or your Glade, or your stupid games.

He stands back, before a smile breaks out on his face. It's fluster and confused, but it's still there.

"You think I'm funny?" I demand, stepping even closer to him.

"No," he shakes his head quickly.

"Then what?"

He shrugs, before he nods at me. "I think it's because you are right."

Right? It's my turn to recoil from him. He thinks that I am reasonable.

"I am not right." I snap back as rapidly as my lips will allow. "It's just how I see it, and it's probably wrong anyway. Quit smiling."

He shakes his head. "I'm David."

He sticks out his hand, but I don't take it. Holding it there for a few seconds, he shrugs before he relaxes it.

"You're actually right." He continues, even though I am trying my best to ignore him. "I'm just a shank who tried to help you out. You don't owe me anything, or any of the boys in this shucking place anyway. Especially, since you've been arrested what, twice now?"

I don't correct him. All I can do is stare at his face, and the slight smirk on his cheek. He can't help but let it consume him, as he backs away.

"It's David," he repeats, "in case you had already forgotten."

Believe me, I hadn't.

The door clangs shut as Alby walks in. He stands up straight, with his arms planted on his hips.

"I figured I'd say sorry," he begins.

I cock an eyebrow at him from where I sit on the floor. Now he is sorry. He doesn't get to just be sorry after he locked me away for a day on baseless grounds. It was me versus a bunch of shanks, and for some reason he didn't even bother to hear me out.

David was right. I owe him nothing.

"We know that they were lying." He tells me, squatting down onto my level. "Don't worry, the guy is in serious trouble."

"Will he be banished?" My voice is harsh and hard. I hope the glass that spouts out my mouth hits him in the face. I hope it cuts open his skin and makes him bleed on to the ground.

He flinches, but his skin doesn't break open. What a pity. I was wishing it wouldn't be just my blood all over the walls of this prison.

"I didn't want to banish you." He tells me, staring me down. "My recommendation was a week in the Slammer. I didn't want you to die, but I couldn't change nothing."

"You're the guy in charge of the damn Glade." I argue, crinkling my nose at him. "Klunk to that."

He smirks, as if my suggestion was odd. "Klunk to that?"

"You aren't in a position to be mocking me." It's a threat but he doesn't notice it.

"No, I like it." He looks up at the ceiling as he repeats the phrase under his breath. "It's true. Klunk to this. I should've listened to you before I passed judgement. I rushed to action, and didn't listen. As first in command, it's my job to make sure every Glader is heard. Especially you, Greenbean."

"My name is Michelle." I spit it off my tongue like the dart it is.

Funny, when I first met Alby, I didn't care to learn his name, and I didn't want him to know mine. Now, I realise how much power both of our names yield. At first it was all I had, so I held it back and kept it as mine. Overtime, I've come to see that giving him my name forces him to respect me. I will be damned if he doesn't, so I am happy when he nods.

"Michelle," it's simple and sweet, but it makes me feel relieved to hear him say it.

He stands up, and I follow him onto my feet. "If you want, I can get you off the Builders. I'll make the Bricknicks or the Trackhoes take you, since Zart's girl is gone."

"What happened to the pipsqueak?" I demand, stepping closer to him.

Alby shrugs before looking at me. "She's been in and out the past couple of days. Two seizures. We found her in the middle of the night coughing up blood in the Deadheads. It ain't looking good for her."

I should've payed more attention when Leo tried to explain what was going on to me. Like with names, the longer I am here the longer I realise I am wrong. While I don't sympathise with Alby, nor even remotely like or trust him, I am willing to take what he says with a grain of salt. An improvement on just a week ago, when his words meant less than nothing to me. After all, why shouldn't I trust him when he is the target of a conspiracy? I think he has bigger things to worry about then trusting me.

Leo is different. She is part of the problem, so I absolutely shouldn't trust her. If anything she is the mastermind behind it all.

He moves towards the door, and I follow him out into the midday sun. Everybody is too busy working to bother to take the time to stare at me. I feel the grass tickling at the bit of my ankles exposed between my cuffed pants and my boots. The sun is bright and it blares down onto my skin. It hurts my head, but it is so very worth it.

I didn't think the Glade would ever feel like freedom, but here and now it does.

"You never answered me." Alby steps up beside me.

I shrug, waiting for him to continue. I don't have a single clue as to what he is talking about.

"Do you want to be moved crew?"

I look over at the Builders. From here I can see David hammering a nail into a board. Gally too, is bent over the structure in front of him, knocking on the wood to see if it's sturdy.

I quickly shake my head. "I think I am more than fine where I am."


	29. I'm colourless

28 Ella

Every time I wake up, I begin to think I am becoming increasingly asleep. Today, I decide I cannot bear to get out of bed. I feel eyes on me, and I don't know whose. If it is his, then my body will ignite inflame and burn to the ground. I will be reduced to nothing but the cinders and the smoke that passes with the wind.

If it is her, I fear that worse will happen. Because if she is here but still not here, I fear I might die.

So instead of moving, I let myself sink into the sheets. Maybe if I lie down long enough, my mind will leave me again. Drifting off into a place I do not know, a place I do not remember. Where the living people are. For you see, I was born a corpse. This body is a shell casing for something that use to be in here. I can feel how light my head is. It is a barren field.

I used to know something. Something very important. That is why the smoke man has chosen me, and that is why I should feel guilty for leaving the violet girl behind. I have disappointed us all.

"Are you going to lie there all day?"

The voice belongs to the brunette. It is her eyes and no one else's who stare me down. I don't want to look at her regardless, because more wandering eyes can't be very far behind. Perhaps if I continue to lie here, they will leave my skin.

I know what it feels like to be stared at, and I will be damned to live here for the rest of my life of I let people like the brunette stare at me until every inch of my flesh is memorized in their minds.

Perhaps I can pretend I'm mute. I know I've spoken to them before, replied in ways that confused them more than enlightened them. It won't work. Another alternative is pleading insanity. Which is ironic, because my head is the clearest in the whole Glade. No matter how much I try, I can't help them.

So instead I lie still and pretend I can't move a muscle. In front of some predators, it is best to keep still. If you don't move, they can't see you. Leo is not a dumb animal, but I don't think she is as persistent as she would like to be.

I am right. She gets up and moves out of the room. When I think she is gone, I still can't manage to peel myself off of the bed. Why must I be like this?

"If you need anything, let me know." I hear her voice call out from down the hall.

It finds its way into the room, relaxing the air. Of course I can tell her anything. That doesn't mean she will listen, nor does it mean she will believe me. Why would she? I know that her whole world is a fabrication. It would be easier, despite it being cowardly to hide out in the lies. That's why my thoughts are so dangerous. They could tear apart the very fabric which her entire existence is built upon.

Would I want to do that? Honestly, I don't think I actually care.

It's easier to hide out in your thoughts.

The words tint the air purple. The gas that fills the room is normally translucent, but her colour slowly tints the space. I am trapped in a violet haze. Soft and warm, the feeling is much like her arms. I long to be in them again.

She is gone, though. And she is right. Here in my thoughts, I can hide and pretend I am breathing her in. My violet girl is separate from the air, no matter how I wish she was here with me.

Once, she whispered me her name.

I can feel the blood trickle down my face. It sprouts out my nose, and it takes everything I have not to scratch the itch and find her name. It's stored in a filing cabinet deep in my brain, like the rest of my memories. Ever since I got here, the cabinet has been locked. When I go to retrieve a memory, I have to smash and break open the cabinet. It's not worth breaking in to get her name. Any other crumb of information I would leap at the chance to discover and saviour.

What does her name matter when I don't even know mine?

You are still hiding.

Not from the truth. I am being sensible, sitting here in this room. I have bled out of my face for however long I have been here. I have lost sense of the time since I arrive. When we first popped up, I remember the clock counting on the time. One second, two seconds, three seconds. I could tell the difference between 30 minutes and 27 minutes. 30 seconds and 27 seconds.

Of course now I know it doesn't matter. Time is not a concept I have to deal with here. As terrifying as it is, it is the truth.

No it is not

What would you know? Violet girl, you are gone. You have never breathed in this room. For all I know, you have not breathed in the years we have been apart. I doubt you even recall me. Of course I do not remember myself, but you would not know my skin if you saw it with your own eyes.

I wonder if you saw me as a colour. If I were one as beautiful and magnificent as you. Though there could never be such a thing, I can always pretend it is possible. I know it isn't despite how much I wish it would be.

Everyone here is a colour. Almost all of them grey. They stem from the Smoke man, who spews off clouds of grey, ranging to near white to near night. All of the boys share the shades, though each differs from one another they blur together unless I am thinking directly about them.

The leader is a grey that bites. His is sharp and steady, never changing or shifting. It holds him together instead of puddling around him at his feet. When he is near the colours, he absorbs them like a black hole.

The boy I saw in the forest is easily tinted. He is grey like old cobblestone. His grey is cloudy and it billows off of him in waves. Easily mixed in, I more often than not find hews of blue inside of it, even if I don't want to.

Even darker is the boy who is in charge of me. He is the colour of slate. It could be because he doesn't talk, and secrets wash in him and dirty the blankets of colour that surround him. It's not like a brick wall like the leaders, nor is it like the cloud that is on the Runner boy. His grey is solid yet flowing. It defies gravity and all laws, and I imagine that if I were to reach up to him, I could unbutton it and drag it off, revealing the colour below.

The medics share shades that are so close to one another I cannot tell them apart. It's hard, because the more boys I think about, the less I can distinguish their colours. The rest of the Gladers I have not been alone with.

Except for many of the girls. Even if I have not been alone with them, their colours radiate off of them. Blue for the adventure and the sky that lives at the tips of her fingers. Green for the support and rationality that stands beneath her feet. Red for the fire that burns in her blood.

Three colours for three girls. I have none.

You are yellow for the sun set that may set but the stars that live on past it. One day, we will see the sun rise.


	30. I'm lonely

29 Leo

"You know, I am truly sorry."

She doesn't answer me. I didn't expect her to even acknowledge my presence, but her eyes flicker up to my face as she looks at me. I watch her bite her lip, and straighten up in front of the fire. Catching my eyes one last time, she takes a deep swig at the glass jar in her hand. She finishes the rest of the brown liquid off, and I watch as she tries not to flinch at it going down her throat.

"I'm glad you are out," I continue, trying to maintain my stance in front of her.

Forgiveness is not something I need from her. Technically I did nothing wrong, but that also means I did nothing right. I am as guilty for everything that has happened as the next guy.

"Leo would you shut up already?" Michelle's dirty hair hangs in her face, covering her eyes. "It's not your fault you shank. It's nobody's fault except those shucking Baggers."

I am shocked. Michelle is being reasonable? That's not really her style. Something happened to her in solitude. She didn't calm down; I can tell from the way her knuckles turn white as they grip the glass in her hand.

It's hard to maintain respect in front of someone so hard. How she has restrained herself from getting up and socking my preppy mug in the face is more than completely beyond me. She has more than every reason on the planet to scream and yell at me. In fact, I don't know how she is staying so calm and composed.

She isn't calm though. Her scowl wears her and ways her down, much like the bags under her eyes. Michelle is not relaxed, she is exhausted.

I've got nothing else to say to her, so all I can do is squat next to the log she sits on. Eventually she stands up, leaving the empty glass on the log.

As she leaves I still stay as close to the ground as I can. Michelle is out and not causing trouble. The smallest girl is awake. I can see Minho from where I stand here, and he is not with Dawn. Everything is healing from what it once was.

Although, I know I am tricking myself. The small girl isn't speaking or moving in her bed. Violence is getting ready to spring out of Michelle's skin since she is the quiet before the storm. Last night I caught Dawn sneaking around with Minho in the dark. Really nothing has become better, and there is nothing I can do about it.

How can I be in charge? I long to lose this power that was thrusted violently into the palms of my hands. These girls aren't people I can control? Can people even be controlled, and is it morally right to do so? How I miss being asleep. Whatever was happening before this can't be any worse than this now. My lungs hurt, and I can feel them thumping up and down in my chest.

I can't be responsible for them. No one can. We are doomed and we have been doomed since the second I opened my eyes and saw nothing. I miss the nothing. The sound of nothing except the metal cage cracking against the walls, and the feeling of the cool cage bringing blood out to my fingertips.

This can't be happening. I can't do this. It's too much pressure, and too much weight, and I am too tired for any of this to function for my body. Why is this happening? Why can't I stop it? Even then in the Box I was brought up in I felt this. This bubbling and bursting pressure that fills my muscles and my bones, and makes everything contract.

I can't stand up. I can't move and I can't breathe. Why is this happening?

Who put us here? I don't mean in the shucking Glade, I mean on the planet. Why am I here to begin with? Who were my parents, and why can't I demand to know what they did to make me like this? In this body, in this world, with this responsibility hanging over my head like a blade in a guillotine.

Worst is, I know no one who can help me. I am surrounded by chaos and carelessness. The little girl doesn't speak. Dawn and Michelle are both insane in incredibly similar but inexplicably different ways. Alby is pretty much my boss, and I don't really know anyone else well enough to trust them.

I don't even know myself well enough to trust me.

"Leo, have you seen Dawn?" I look up to see Minho peering down at me.

I feel heat rise in my throat, and feel the taste of bile slicing its way through my neck. He can't be serious? Does he honestly believe there is any universe where I would tell him where Dawn is? Never mind the fact that I don't know, but Minho is nothing but trouble. I thought he was nice. That is, until I caught him and Dawn together in secret twice. Twice!

If it were Michelle instead of Dawn would I be this mad?

I want to say something to him, but my voice is caught in my throat. He seems genuinely concerned, but that's not why. I can't say anything to him because I can't speak. My lungs are still tight, and I can't breathe. No oxygen will enter my lungs, and my vision is beginning to blur.

"Leo, hey," Minho kneels down next to me. "Are you alright? You aren't..."

I can't breathe. Minho, I can't breathe. You have to help me. All I can see is you, there is nothing else here. Not even my shaking hands nor my knees. This can't be real. Why does it feel like the sky is falling down and crushing my lungs into my chest? This can't be happening.

His hands rest on mine. I can feel him trying to hold them still. Nothing can stop me from crumbling down to the ground, especially not a boy who I don't know.

I watch him press his lips together as he stares at me.

My chest raises up and down, and I can see him staring at it. Now in a vulture kind of way. Not like when people first arrived. In a concerned way. Like he is watching me tilt over the edge of a cliff, and there is nothing he can do but see what is about to happen.

"Do you want me to go get a Med-jack?" He asks me carefully, peering around his shoulders. "Clint and Jeff? They are your friends, right? They can help you."

I can't shake my head in disagreement, but I wish I could. I don't need a Doctor. I need someone who can teach me how to breathe. Someone who can pump my lungs as easily as you can fill a bicycle with air.

I take a sudden gasp of air. It leaves my mouth, and then hiccups back in. I can hear my throat shaking, and my arms are shaking, and the whole world is shaking. What is happening? This has never happened to me before, not in the history of the entire universe. Maybe not to anybody. But what would I know? I have no memories.

Minho grabs me by the shoulders, lifting me up and off of the ground. Carefully, he supports me as he helps me into the Homestead. Why must he be so nice when I am trying to be mad at him? Honestly, I wish he wasn't so kind. It would be much easier to be mad at him if he wasn't one of the best people in the Glade.

He brings me into a room that isn't upstairs. He sits me upright on the bed, before running his hands through his hair.

"Alright, who should I get?" He turns to me. "Alby? Dawn? Newt? Who can help you?"

I don't know. I have no one. My hair falls in my face as I bury myself into my hands. Why would I have someone to help me? All that there is here, is nothing. It's me, and my heart beating, and Minho.

He sits down next to me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. Squeezing my shoulders lightly, he sits in silence. Since when does he know how to shut up? Nothing really ever goes in my favour, but here I am in a room I don't know, with a boy I don't know, trying to calm down.

Why am I even freaking out? I have too many things to worry about to be panicking at this rate. Michelle is chaos, Dawn is a disaster, and who knows what the young girl's name is, or if she will live to see tomorrow's sunrise. This responsibility can't be on me. I am not ready for it, nor can I handle it. I don't even know if I am smart, or good at anything. All I know is that I am great at wasting my time, as well as other people's time.

"Go," my voice croaks, and it is as hoarse as it was in that shucking Box.

I can feel tears leaking at my eyes. Sniffling them back doesn't stop them, so I just let the brew in the corners of my eyes.

Minho stiffens, turning his head to look at me. I can't see his face through my hair, so I tuck it out and behind my ears. It takes every ounce of strength in my muscles to shove him off and away from me. He stumbles back, not from the force of me pushing him. From the way his face contorts into raised eyebrows and wide eyes, he is shocked.

I stand up, shaking still. "Minho, just leave."

He nods, before quickly moving himself out of the room.

"What's going on it there?"

It's a muffled voice behind the door, but I know who it belongs to. Shit, I must be in Minho's room. This doesn't look good, not at all. Me crying on his bed, Minho just outside the door.

"Nothing, nothing," Minho's voice is quitter, fading into a whisper as the other boy asks questions back.

This room has a window, and when I move over to it, I realise it will look just as bad if I jump out of Minho's window crying as it will being caught in here. Honestly, it might look worse.

The mattress he has is flat on the ground, there is no space to crawl under it. I am not hiding in the sheets, because that will look way shucking worse than anything I could possibly do. There is nothing in here besides a bed, and a spare pair of clothes in the corner. Shuck.

The door bursts open, and on the other side is Newt. He moves in, pushing past Minho's hands. Stepping up close to me, he doesn't close the space between us. I wipe the tears off my face with the back of my wrist. Newt maintains a firm distance, but I can see him leaning on his toes in closer to me.

"Leo..." he begins the sentence, but can't continue. My eyes swim in his brown eyes, and neither of us move for a few seconds. Why is he staring at me like this? And why am I staring back.

"Honestly Newt, nothing happened." Minho says, looking to me for support. "I didn't do anything to her."

I nod, sniffling as I look away from Newt. His foot nudges closer as he looks at me. His knees bend, as he squats down to be closer to my height. I am not short, but he definitely is tall. Tall enough that he is near a head taller than I am.

I can't meet his eyes.

"Leo, is he telling the truth?" Newt demands.

Nodding carefully, I manage to look up at him. "Yes."

I wait for Newt to prompt me further but he doesn't. He doesn't move, and I feel like he doesn't breathe. It's as if time has frozen, and it is just him and I and Minho standing together in this room.

"Minho, can you give us a second?" Newt asks.

The boy nods, leaving the room and closing the door. It shuts, and the sound hits the space. Flinching isn't something I want to do, but I do it anyway.

"Are you alright?" Newt asks me carefully, as if the sound will break me like glass.

I nod, still avoiding his eyes. "Yeah, now."

He takes in my answer. Why is there always so much silence between us? When I talk to Dawn, she fills the space, the room and my mind. Her personality and her air, all of her sinks into my skin and replaces everything in my mind with all that she is. There is infinite amounts of space between Newt and I. He always stands far enough away, and is quiet enough that it all feels calculated and forced. It's not natural.

I nod. Now it is my turn to be awkwardly quiet. Why am I always like this?

"Take as much time as you need," he continues. "If you need to talk, I'll be listening."

I won't need to talk, but as he walks out the door I can't help but call out after him.

"Thank you.


	31. I am part of something

30 Dawn

"I've been looking for you. Where have you been?" Minho runs up to me, looking me up and down.

What's got him all in a twist? His hair stands up on end, and his shirt is ruffled up. He continues closer to me and I can't help but step closer to him.

"I was with Fry," I cross my arms over my chest. "Since we are friends."

He flinches, and I regret everything. Ignoring my comment, he carries on. "Something happened to Leo."

Great, again. Not that something has happened to Leo before, but that something has happened. I've been awake for what, a little over a week, and nearly every day something terribly dramatic has happened.

Minho shrugs his shoulders up. "Well? Aren't you worry?"

"Of course I'm worried." It's not entirely true, but not entirely false. Leo is a hypochondriac. Why am I so angry at him? "Why wouldn't I be worried?"

He breathes in and out before rubbing his face on his chin.

"Sorry," he mutters it quickly. "Listen, I'm just stressed out, okay? Every time one of you girls disappear, something bad happens. I don't want something bad to happen to you, okay?"

I am shocked by his honesty. He straightens up as soon as he says the words, and I see his cheeks tinge pink. It's as if he himself doesn't want to admit that he just said what I think he said.

"You don't need to worry about me."

I can't be mad anymore. Not when he looks at me with his dark brown eyes. Obviously it is not his business nor his place to worry about me. I obviously can control myself and don't need anyone's protection. I have half the mind to tell him off for being so protective. When he looks at me like that though, my throat tightens and my knees buckle.

"You should see Leo," he tells me, breaking eye contact.

A smile plays on his lips as he brings me to the Homestead. Walking inside, he gestures to a door in the corner. I nod a thanks, but say nothing as I walk off. His hands trail along my arms, and when I spin around to look at him he just winks.

I can't help but smile as I roll my eyes. Honestly, that boy will be the death of me. Unfortunately, I would die a thousand deaths over and over to be in his hands.

I grab the handle, opening the door. When I spin around to look for him, he is already gone. I guess that means it must be just me to go in the room.

Leo lies on the bed, atop red sheets. She doesn't stir as I close the door behind me. I doubt she even heard me enter. One arm is draped higher than the other on the bed, and I can't help but think it looks like she is reaching for the stars.

Her face is a different story. I don't understand how someone can look both so pale and so red at the same time. The colour flushes her cheeks, but leaves the skin on her forehead and neck the palest of whites. Her lips only flash traces that they used to have blood pumping through them. The barely noticeable freckles across her nose now stick out abruptly. Normally I would say they look like constellations. Here they don't.

Here, she looks like death.

Worse than her flesh, is the way she quivers. If I look carefully, I can see her lip twitch every few seconds. Her hands quake and spasm. Leo usually carries a stillness to her. Calm and composed; as long as I've known her she has always managed to hold herself together. Even when she caught Minho and I, she held herself together.

She is unravelling.

The scariest part to her is definitely her eyes. They are glossed over. Smudged windows that show the way to the soul. There is nothing behind her blank stare. No thought, no feeling, nothing in her body or her bones at all. Leo is odd, and I used to think she was overreacting when she would freak out about things. Michelle almost being killed, Curly fainting, none of it seemed real.

Until I saw Curly go out. That was scary. That was blood pumping and rushing, and my brain thumping in my head. That was chaos, but it was also adrenaline. This is a quiet kind of terrifying. At least with Curly I was panicking and rushing about. Here and now, all I can see is Leo dying slowly.

"Leo?" Why is my voice croaking?

I watch her eyes flicker to me. So she is alive. Once her brain registers that I am in fact real, she sits up. I can see the way her bones groan and grind together. Her actions look more robot than human. What is happening?

"Are you alright?"

She brings her knees up to her chest, looking at me over the strands of hair that fall down into her face. Nodding up and down, I watch as she chews on the inside of her cheek.

"Yeah," she cracks a smile, more embarrassed than shaken. "I just freaked out. It's pretty shucking stupid honestly."

I don't entirely buy it, but she seems to be speaking honestly. Before I can think about it, I'm moving up and close to her. My feet find their way on to the bed. When I sit in front of her, she pulls her head up completely from where it is hiding.

Without speaking, something I normally have no trouble doing but seem to forget how in this moment, I move beside Leo. Leaning into her, I feel her head rest on my shoulder. I've heard that often watching a star burnout is like watching a train wreck. The longer you stare, the harder it is to rip your eyes away, and the more your feet scald into the ground.

Leo is a star, but the closer I get the less it feels like a disaster. The more it feels human.

She looks up at me, with her bright brown eyes. I know it is her and I, but I can't help but think of Minho when I see them. No matter where I look I see him everywhere.

"What's going on?" Michelle opens the door, staring at the two of us sitting on the bed.

Leo breaks away from me, leaning away a little too quickly.

Since when is Michelle concerned for anything other than herself? I've always thought her to be a deeply egotistical girl, but from the way her frown curls, and the way her eyebrows lower down closer to her eyes, I realise selfish does not properly describe her. Michelle, it seems, is not trusting. She is reckless, and irrational, but it also seems she is protective.

Which is why I am not surprised when she sits on the bed in front of us. Though her body faces away, her head is turned to Leo. She places a hand on the girl's knee.

How did she know to come in here?

"Why are you here?" I whisper it, and try to make it sound as if I am not accusing her of something awful.

"That funny-talking guy told me you were here." She answers back.

I shake my head, rolling my eyes. "He talks just like me, slinthead."

Michelle's voice is firm like stone, but soft and bending. For once she isn't freaking out or being cold. Of course when she is angry, she is powerful. I don't think powerful is warm though. They correlate, but that doesn't mean one causes the other. Michelle is concrete, metal and deep red smeared on surfaces. She is sparks from electronics, and the false freeze of an air conditioner. She isn't human. The only thing that is feeling to her is her bright red hair, which turns a darker, colder shade of red at the roots.

Leo, however, is quite the opposite. Her skin is soft, and it feels like home. Natural light, like the sun, is reflected in her freckled skin. She is calm like the Earth, where Michelle is a raging mechanical whir. White creams and soft sheets, Leo is everything a hospital ought to feel like. She feels like the waiting room to a fancy doctor's office; nice and pretty but all the same masking bad news that hides behind the door.

When the hinges creak open, it is Curly. I can't figure out what she feels like. Maybe it is like fog, or maybe a deep midnight sky. No matter how hard I try, I can't see through her mask and to who she truly is. She hides the stars from me, not on purpose; just out of habit. The mystery is just as intriguing as what lies behind it.

"You're up," Leo sniffles as she laughs. "What are you doing out of bed?"

Curly shrugs, pressing her weight into the doorframe. It cracks as she presses her weight into it. It's a wonder that she has any weight to her at all. In the time she has gone from awake to unconscious, her skin has faded away. Normally a lovely brown, there is an unmistakable grey tint to all of her. There is also a lack of her to her. Washed away in too many loads of laundry, she has lost both her colour and her substance. Even for such a small girl, she is incredibly thin.

Not only isn't she one for speaking, but she isn't one for moving. Michelle looks down on the bed, averting her eyes from the girl behind her. I can't properly read her face, but it's easy to read the way she concentrates on her own breathing. One in, one out. Is she trying to remain still?

Michelle doesn't care for stillness, right?

"Oh, would you stop standing in the doorway like a shucking peeking-tom?" Michelle's voice is serious, directing at the young girl. "Just come in honestly; none of us bite."

Leo shakes her head, but as she wipes her eyes I can feel the smile brimming her face. She leans back into me again, biting her lip instead of her cheek. "Michelle lacks tack, but she is right. Come on in."

Curly takes a step closer to us, building a bridge between us.

"Come on, we're a coalition right?" Leo sniffles once more.

She stops moving forward, flinching. "You remember?"

"Remember what?" I ask.

Curly certainly is odd. She shakes her head, tossing the idea out her ears like she is spraying the imaginary water out from her hair. Every time she speaks, a stranger string of words comes out.

Whatever it was she was thinking about, she sits down next to Michelle. Resting the back of her head against Leo's knees, she lets her feet dangle off the bed.

"I heard you talking," Curly reveals. "I figured I'd come say hi."

Michelle gives me a look, one with a scrunched forehead and a mouth agape. It almost sends me into a laughing fit, but I maintain my composure with a simple giggle. She figured she'd come say hi? Since when does she say anything?

The four of us lie together in quiet. Nothing is perfect but we are together. And through being together, we are free.

"My name is Ella."


	32. I'm ready

31 Michelle 

I hate working. Well, that's not true. I like feeling wood planks in my hands. Unbending and strong, I can use it to build me anything I want. A shelter, a home, a bat to beat the other Builders with.

It's not my job that is awful. Building itself is fantastic; even in the early morning sun I enjoy it. My main issue relies with everyone staring at me. Their wandering eyes have stopped wandering, and started simply resting on me for hours on end. I thought it was bad before I got arrested and thrown in the Slammer, but this is worse. So very much worse.

We are almost done the additional room they are putting on here. I still don't know why I am building it. Never thought to ask, and I don't particularly care. If I stopped to think about it, I might wonder why. Why I am so complacent in doing things without being told why. Constructing keeps me sane. It takes my mind off of every terrible thing that is happening around me. So long as I can make the structure stand, it doesn't matter to me if my whole world falls down.

I guess that is the purpose to building it. The Glade doesn't give me time to worry about an end result. After all, I have been tossed into the Slammer more times than anyone else here, as far as I can tell. Currently, I need something to keep my eyes moving, and the gears in my brain turning. I don't want to think. I want my thoughts to slip away from my head, and for all my actions to go on autopilot. Rub mud on the walls, over and over again. Continue until your fingers are numb and your hands are caked in brown.

Who needs therapy when you can easily decide not to think?

It's hard with everyone staring at me. I can't storm off today. So far, I've been lucky that Gally hasn't let me go. Didn't Alby give him the opportunity to decide he didn't want me anymore?

This is what I am talking about. Thinking. All it does is ruin my mood. I thought I was in a good mood too.

"Hey, be careful," it's that boy again. David. Why is he always everywhere I go?

We work together but that's beside the point.

"With?" I don't even glance at him over my shoulder. Using the back of my hand, I wipe my itching nose.

He grabs me by the wrist, and I spin to stare at him. "That. The mud we use for dry walling is pretty toxic. It comes up in buckets you know; it's not real mud. Ingest it and you are going to be spending a lot of time in front of a place people unload their klunk."

That's a pretty image. He isn't very good at talking, but he means that I am going to be blowing chunks for hours upon hours. Honestly, it's better than being here with the Builders.

I think.

It takes me a second to remember to rip my wrist from his grasp. Who does he think he is, grabbing a hold of me like that?

I try my best to ignore the voice that whistles in the back of my mind. He is trying to help you.

"I don't need your help." I do, but I would never admit it to him. Not to his face that turns pink as I speak. Nor his eyes that wander away from me and to the ground. I feel my feet soften into the ground as he looks away from me.

It's as if my bones forgot that they were supposed to stop me from turning into a puddle on the ground.

"Right," he at the dust that threatens his own nose. "Sorry, I forgot you've got the whole "I don't need anyone" thing going on."

"It's not a thing." I turn back to the wall, avoiding scratching my nose with my muddy hands.

"Sure it is," David leans down, taking some mud on the end of whatever it is he is holding, and begins to spread the brown muck along the wall. "I had half a mind that you would admit to stealing the screwdriver just to spite me. Since, that's your thing."

He's wrong. I don't have a complex about acting independently. The simple matter of the fact is that no one here has told me the absolute truth on any matter. Why should I trust anyone to support me when they could easily let me fall? What motivation does anyone have for helping anyone else?

It's a dog eat dog world. An expression I know but do not ever remember hearing. There's got to be a reason why I am trapped in this Maze. I imagine it's to point out the fact that we are all on our own. After all, that's how I feel too often.

"David," Gally walks up to us.

I watch David's eyes fly back to the wall. His eyes look straight forward, before they look down at his mud stained boots. Gally moves in between the two of us. He smells like the sun, hard-work, and anger. Cheeks show the sun, his clothes the hard-work, and his glare the anger.

Gally is smart not to threaten David. Chests heaving as they both breathe, Gally is nearly pressed up against David. His stance is menacing.

David is quite the opposite of Gally. The mud-caked boy next to me does not break eye contact from the wall. He is too scared to look up. Hands shaking as they spread mud along the wall. Lip quavering as air pushes out of it in sudden movements. David is a coward.

Or maybe, David is resilient.

I look away from the two of them, concentrating on my own part of the wall. Right, dry walling or whatever it is I am doing. Like I said, it's easier not to think.

Maybe that's the coward's way out. Am I more fearful than David?

I won't let myself be.

My eyes tear up to see Gally staring straight at me. He peers over David's shoulder, staring me down. I want to look away, but I can't. Non-verbal communication or something. The way he stares me makes me feel like he can see deep into my soul. Perhaps he can. After all, Gally is many things. A shank absolutely, but he isn't dumb by any stretch of the word.

His lips are tight in a line, and his eyebrows are low. Often, he looks at me with exasperation, or with a glance where he wants to tell me he was right the whole time. Anger normally clings to his face like a stain, so I am used to that.

This look is almost a challenge. It's not quite serious enough though, and I can tell from the way his nose is turned down. It's certain of whatever he is communicating me that is for sure. Though I can't exactly discern his meaning.

"Michelle," he begins, "come with me."

"Why?"

I don't ask it, though I was about to. Instead, it is David who looks up from his work to stare Gally down. His skin turns even redder than it normally is. His fingers clench and I wait for Gally to rip his hand up and let it collide with David's face. I can see it happening now. He takes one quick swing, and knocks David so hard his cheek hits the mud on the wall before he falls down.

As I am seeing it I don't flinch.

As Gally breathes, I watch him relax his hand. "Going to teach her about planking the floor. After all, we wouldn't want her to get hurt using a screwdriver."

I expect David to flinch but he doesn't. Absolutely wrong about him being cowardly.

Whatever. I watch David's eyes linger along me as I back away from the wall before us. Gally is a good liar. His jaw is strong and his eyes steady as when he does it. When David looks at me, I know he is trying to get me to pick a side against Gally. Why? What does David know that I don't, and why hasn't he said it out loud yet?

I follow Gally out of the room. It is a quick few steps until we are out the small space and into the foyer of the Homestead. He doesn't stop, instead heading up the stairs.

"I'm not some puppy that's going to follow you around," I call it out to him from where he is above me.

He glances down, staring at me from his place on the railing. I cross my arms as he looks me up and down.

"What?" I demand.

He continues to stare before turning on his heels and heading further up. Such a drama Queen. Honestly, I don't know how I agree to continue following him up the stairs. He is ridiculous.

Once I'm at the top waiting for him, he pulls me aside and into a room in the corner. It's small, smaller than the one we've been building. Unpainted walls, and a floor made with splintered wood greet me. The bed inside is tucked into a corner, beneath a window that points out to the rest of the Glade. It is open without shutters, and Gally pulls me away from it.

"Don't touch me." I rip my hand from his grasp.

His eyes linger on me, before he drops my hand rather violently. Of course he has to make a show of letting me go. Gally can't just behave normally for ten seconds.

"Ever going to tell me why you brought me here today?" I try my best to match his scowl. "I'm beginning to think you just wanted to bring me into your bedroom."

His nose crinkles in disgust, before he backs up into the closed door behind him. "This isn't even my room. It's Newt's. I'm not shucking dumb enough to bring you into my room."

"How many rooms does this place have?" I ask.

"Ten," he grunts. "It's a load of klunk. Only three shanks get rooms to themselves, and they're the ones your friends have cozied themselves up to."

So this is the game he is playing. Gally and I can never just have a conversation without his ulterior motives leaking through.

"They aren't my friends." I cross my arms over my chest.

"So yesterday in Newt's room," he crosses his own arms back at me, "that wasn't a friendly thing? Being there while Leo cried? She's playing you."

I had forgotten what he told me in the Slammer. About Leo and Dawn getting close to the people in charge. So when there is a power seize over Alby they are in a good spot. As the days go on, Alby is only proving he is unfit to lead, which means he will stop leading soon. I forgot that they were setting up to screw me over.

Or maybe, I don't know if I can believe it. I definitely agree Alby is going to lose power, but how am I supposed to believe they are going to screw me over? I think they might like me.

"How do I know you aren't playing me?" I ask back.

He un-crosses his arms, putting his hands on my elbows. "I've watched enough people get screwed over by people they thought were their friends. That doesn't need to happen to you."

Breath quickly huffs out my lips. "Since when do you care about other people?"

"Since you getting screwed over screws me over," he continues. "Those girls don't care about you. I imagine they probably care about each other and nothing else in this Glade. If you had forgotten, you aren't exactly in the Keepers good book. Hell, I hate you most of all. But they almost let you die. They did nothing to stop you."

"Votes mean nothing." I agree.

They do. If you really truly care about something, the rules don't matter. I can remember what that collar felt like around my neck. I can remember how salty my tears tasted, and I can remember not caring. I can never forget exactly what it felt like to nearly be banished.

While I stared down Leo, who did nothing to save me.

"Exactly," he affirms.

I stand up straighter, looking at Gally. "So, to not get screwed over, what exactly do we need to do?"


	33. I'm exposed

32 Ella

Now they know my fake name.

I've missed the one they say is named Zart. Obviously that isn't his name. Zart is barely part of a sound. A nickname perhaps, but a name absolutely not.

I haven't seen the one they call Zart since I passed out in the garden. Since before my violet friend reappeared. Before she disappeared as well. It seems as if it has been thirty years, but Zart still crouches over his garden, as young as he was last time I saw him. His hands are still cracked and creaking as he runs them through the dirt, bleeding in the spots where his fingers meet his nails.

You can often tell a lot about someone from their nails. A proverb that colours the periwinkle air. She was wrong in the end. Everyone in the Glade has the same nails. Ones that are short and dirty from wrangling their way through hard work and sweating. Every hand except for mine.

She was right after all.

He glances up at me as he works occasionally. I have concentrated myself on the tomatoes I ruined a few days ago. Any traces of me being amongst the plants has completely disappeared. I wonder why my impact on the world around me is so temporary.

The smoke man stifles a laugh as I speak. One that spins in his mouth from the force at which he mocks me. I would say I feel bad for him, since he seems to have nothing to do with his time except exasperate mine.

When will he leave me alone?

When I stop giving him the power to control me.

Her beautiful hands wrap around mine. We are pure opposites. She is the cleanest of whites. From her nail beds, to the soft hairs on her hands that travel up her arms, she is pure. I am dark like secrets and questions, and she is as white as the answers. Sometimes I wish I looked more like her, and other times I wish everyone had a bit of her in their skin.

I can feel her breath on my neck. Her hands trail up my arms, until one finds its way around my stomach and the other finds its way onto the back of my head.

"Hello my sunshine."

I shrug into her touch. We've been apart for years but God do I miss how her skin bleeds into mine. It was never like this before she left. Or maybe it was and I just don't remember. After all, she was 13, and I was 12. Was it like this before?

I want to remember, but I do not want to steal away from this moment. We are complimentary colours. Our joints are puzzle pieces that have longed to be put back together, because without her I can never be whole.

As soon as she is there she is gone, and so is the smoke man. Their clouds chased away but the heat of the air, and the cries of a boy standing out by the door.

I stand on my heels, spinning around to get a look at what is going on. The sun is burying itself opposite the boy who is shouting at the corner of the Glade. The Runner Boy. Not just any Runner boy, but Dawn's. Her Maze Boy is yelling by the Doors, staring out. For a second, I think he is going to run in.

There are feet pounding all around me. Boys dropping things to head to the door. They can hear whatever the boy is calling out, but I can't.

Leo exits the Homestead, her eyes in a panic before she jogs past me. Michelle is quick to follow her, but she slows her pace when she catches a glimpse of Leo running up before her. I thought after last night we would all be good again. However it doesn't seem like the case.

I get up to move closer, but I feel Zart's hand on my shoulder.

"Don't," he begins, "it's better we watch from here. Safer, especially for you."

"What's happening?"

I find it easy to talk to Zart. He is the same as I am. No memories, that's not what I mean. He is quite, and knows a lot more than he wants people to know. He doesn't recognise the boys as leaders here, despite he himself being one of them. An enigma of a boy, Zart puzzles me.

That's alright though, because I like being puzzled. I scratch the same part of his brain that he scratches of mine. If I didn't know better, I would say that we were best friends. The only problem is, I think this is one of the first times we have spoken.

"A Runner hasn't made it back," he glances down at the black watch on his wrists. "We've haven't even got a minute until the Doors shut."

"So?"

He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. He is a nearly two feet taller than me. I barely push five feet. Somehow I am even shorter than Michelle. I'd say Zart is over six feet tall. He is nearly as long as the one who talks like Dawn. Newt.

I hate using their names. It feels as if I am playing straight into the smoke man's hands.

"So, he's dead." Zart says it firmly, and I know he is right. "No one lasts a night out in the Maze with those Grievers. They'll find his body in a few days. If the Grievers are feeling nice, they'll drop his body by the Doors for some poor shank to drag in tomorrow. Monsters."

"They're not monsters." I tell him.

He shakes his head. "Doing your job doesn't mean you are doing what's right."

"People only do what they know," I reply. "Robots are the same."

"Robots?"

The smoke man put them here to keep us inside. Our adversaries make us cower in fear. Those Grievers are nothing but zeroes and ones put together in an order that make them violent. We are the same as people. We were programmed to serve an exact purpose, and we never question why we behave in the fashion we do. Why we even speak the language we do.

I should know. As far as I have counted, I speak four.

Zart is smart enough that I could explain this to him, and he would understand me. Only I do not have the time, nor the energy, nor the ability to hold off a seizure. Instead, I nod at him solemnly.

Before us, I watch Dawn reach to put a hand on the Runner boy's shoulder, as the Doors slam shut.


	34. I'm shucked

33 Leo

I didn't sleep well last night. My back pressed against the cold stone wall towards the far side of the Glade. I've slept on doors that won't open no matter how hard people press against them.

I can remember Dawn shouting. I can remember her shoving her way through the crowd towards Alby, demanding why we did nothing. Why we all stood like shanks in our boots instead of climbing the Wall, or trying to bend it open. Why people could stand still as a boy was out there with the Grievers.

Alby's words still haunt me. They are like ghosts that re-appeared every time I tried to close my eyes. Words that stung like chemicals in my eyes.

"We've been trying to save them for years. We are powerless to the maze."

I didn't want to think I was at the disposal of my surroundings, but when I couldn't close my eyes I knew he was right. I wanted nothing more than to chase after Dawn. To hold her and tell her everything was alright, like she had done for me the day before. Unfortunately I am a coward. Even more unfortunately, it was Fry-pan that trailed after her as she was crying.

Minho locked himself in the Map room. He still hasn't come out, even though all the other Runners are congregating at the Box. Supplies came up a few days ago, which means they are standing there waiting for further instruction. Waiting for meaning.

The Doors are open, and none of them have moved. I was awake well before they opened, and only managed to peel myself off of the ground as my resting place was disturbed. Now I stand blocking the only way out of the Glade, staring down at the ground.

This is the first time I have seen a dead body.

His skin is pale, and seems to stick to the congealed black blood on the ground. I didn't know blood got as sticky and thick as it did from where it once pooled from beneath his head. The nights in the Glade are cold, and I imagine it is colder beyond the Walls.

In the early morning sun, I can see exactly how he died. Throat ripped out at the side by God knows what. His skin is hacked apart and sprayed about, as if he was put in a blender. I can see pieces of his flesh lumping together on the ground. Puddles of organs, heaps of blood.

When I stare at it, I forget to move. I forget to breathe. It is unusual to see a boy destroyed. Dead I can handle. Mangled bones and muscle is not a nice sight for the early morning. I would throw something up if I had anything in my stomach to release.

A hand is wrapped in mine, and I can't find the ability to move my body. It is like it was two nights ago. When there was me, and Dawn, and Michelle and Ella on Minho's bed. In space that belonged to us.

I feel someone spin around in front of me. It's Newt's face. He is still holding my hand, as he looks me in the face. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him. I can't tear my eyes away from the boy on the ground in front of me.

"Don't look at Stephen," he ducks in front of the body, so I am forced to stare into Newt's eyes. "Don't look at him, alright?"

He looks over his shoulder, at the boys by the Box, before he drags me into the Deadheads. They lie just to the south of where we stand at the East Door. It's hard to breath, but I let Newt bring me there. His hands still hold mine steady as we are swallowed whole by the trees.

I can hear him shaking. I don't know how else to explain it. Just like I can hear the trees rustling. Newt quakes in a way I didn't think I would see. It hadn't occurred to me that he wouldn't want to see Stephen's body either. All that could run through my head was my quick pumping blood.

But here in the emptiness of the woods, I can feel him breaking against me. The way he shakes should happen to boys. Not to anyone.

He's crying.

I reach around his head, and stand on my toes to pull his face into my neck. He is taller than me, and it is hard to stand like this, but I don't care. Often I forget that Newt is not just a leader; he is a boy. It escapes me that I am not the only one who has power but feels like they shouldn't. After all, I can't be the only human to ever be insecure.

Insecurity is only human.

"I can't believe he is dead," Newt begins. "I barely knew the kid. Came up two months before Chuck, who came up the month before you. Only became a Runner two weeks ago. Filled the slot I left open a few months ago. This isn't shucking happening."

I want to tell him it's not his fault, but he will never believe me. If I were in his shoes, I would blame myself too. The thing is, we can't be responsible for everything. Besides, I still can't breathe. The words to help him are in my somewhere, but I can't find them.

Instead, I hold him against me, and he holds me back. What else is there for us to do except try and find some solace in the chaos that surrounds us.

"All to find a way out of that shucking Maze." He clings against me, and I feel his weight drop into mine. I can't support him, but I will die trying. "It's never going to shucking matter, you know? We can hope and whatever, but we've been shucking stuck since we came up in that Box."

He's right, and I can feel the fear creeping up at my knees to take me out. I have to hold myself up for him. That's what friends do, right? All I can do is help hold him up until I fall down.

"Newt," I peel my body off of his to look him in the eye. "Calm down."

My words are the water that sobers him up. He looks at me with red eyes, before he begins to nod up and down. He blinks away tears, before he actually looks at me.

"Shuck, I'm so bloody stupid."

I glance at him, trying to decipher exactly what he is trying to explain.

"I dragged you in here because you looked like you were going to klunk your pants, or losing dinner all over his corpse. Never even asked if you were alright."

"I am alright." Lie. I bite my cheek. He can tell I am lying too. Or maybe he can't, but his eyes run up and down my face trying to decipher the truth in my skin.

His eyes hold the truth to his, but I don't know if I can even read. I've never had the opportunity to, and I know I most certainly can't read the expression in his face.

I hear someone groan, and I find my hands falling quickly off of Newt's shoulders. His fingers fall off my face quicker than I let go off him, and his eyes shoot away from me. They glance back before darting off again. Why is my heart racing? If we get caught, we aren't doing anything. It may look like we are, but we aren't.

Michelle wasn't doing anything either, and she nearly got banished.

I tell myself not to think about it. As long as I don't think that way, it won't be true.

The groan was deep, and undeniably male, where the sigh right after is undeniably the opposite. I know who that is. At least, I hope I know who that is. If suddenly I round that corner and it isn't Minho and Dawn I am in trouble. If, for example, it is, I don't know, Michelle and Jeff? That makes no sense. Alby and Ella. That makes less sense.

Shuck. It's not just me, it's Newt. I flick my gaze up to his eyes. Water brims at the edges as he looks up at me. His knees teeter, and I race to catch him as he falls towards the ground. I miss, instead diving down next to him.

He's freaking out. I can tell from the way his hands shake. Suddenly mine feel sturdy. Don't get me wrong, my stomach still churns from the sight of the bloody corpse on the ground in front of me. His blood spilt on the ground like it was nothing. Like he was nothing at the end of the day.

My fingers twitch, and I feel my nails dig into the palms of my hand. That corpse is the least of my worries right now.

Newt knows. Or at least, he is about to know.

There is a giggle, and I hear more shuffling as someone sturdies themselves. I pull Newt off the ground. He leans against my shoulder as I pull him further away from the wreck I know is behind me. Only Dawn would giggle. This is irreparable. Does Newt recognise her voice? Why won't his breath steady? Where is his breath anyway? It seems buried inside his chest and I haven't learned enough from the Med-jacks to properly start his heart again.

I pull Newt out of the Deadheads, but he ducks back in. Pulling me further until the green is grey and we are against one of the monstrous Walls. His back finds the surface, and the breath finds his lungs and suddenly he is panting.

He runs his hands through his hair, collapsing against the dirt floor. One of his legs curls up into his body instinctively, and the other he has to pull up until he is a ball against the Wall. He chokes on the salt of the tears that leak out his eyes, but he isn't crying.

This is panic, and how it wears his skin.

I kneel in front of him, unsure if I can touch him. My hands twitch as they hover over his boot. If my fingers find his body, will that hurt or help?

"Should I get Clint?" My throat croaks out. "Jeff? Who can help?"

He shakes his head, as he presses his hand against his heart. "It's fine. This happens all the time." His chest cages in his voice and his breath. I wonder if he is trying to start his heart or stop it. I hope neither, but if I genuinely believed that I would be an idiot.

Instead, I stand still, like a shucking idiot. Staring because I don't know what else to do.

"You know who that is." At first I thought it was a question. Newt looks up at me, as he wipes his nose. It's a soft hue of red.

I can't lie to him. I don't even know if I'm a good liar. So instead, I nod. Still crouching in front of him, all I can do is affirm his suspicions.

"Don't tell me who it is," he begins. "Either of them. Alby can't know, you understand that?"

His voice is suddenly urgent so I nod.

"Leo," he takes my hand squeezing it firmly. Too firm. I doubt he even knows he is holding me as tightly as he is. He squeezes me like he is trying to remember he can feel. "You need to promise me you won't say anything. Alright? Just tell them to be more careful. Tell them I know."

"Now?" I can feel my eyes brimming with tears. Why am I so emotional? This is embarrassing.

"No, later," Newt corrects. "Separately."

As he takes on the role of leader, he becomes firm. His breath steadies and he figures out exactly what needs to be done. No time to think about himself. Numb to the world around him.

I wonder if that would work.

I sit next to him, waiting for him to breathe. When I signed up to be a Med-jack, I thought I would be fixing people. That isn't what being a healer is though. What I did decide to do, was watch people break, powerless to stop it.

One thing is certain though, I can try to save those who aren't shards of people. Split like glass and lying in the dirt. If I can protect Ella, Michelle, and Dawn, then that is enough.


	35. I'm lacking

34 Dawn

They buried the boy at 1:00. I only know because I glanced down at Minho's watch while we sat at the table waiting for the Baggers to finish whatever it is those Freak-shows do with bodies. Minho couldn't speak.

He didn't speak when I found him last night. He had stormed out of the Map room at 2:00 when everyone was sleeping. He found me half-awake in the forest, but he didn't speak to me. Instead his mouth latched on to mine like a drowning man searching for oxygen. Like I was his only salvation.

When sunlight hit me this morning in the Deadheads, he didn't speak either. When he groaned I thought he was awake, but he still had sleep in his eyes. By that, I mean his eyes were closed. When he woke up, he put back on the pack he had taken off the night before, and left. Silently.

I wanted to reach out and take his hand, from where he sat. I was next to Frypan while Minho rested facing us on a log. I would have grabbed his hand too; shuck Alby's rules and shuck this Glade for keeping us apart. I didn't because I was worried if I tried he wouldn't hold me back.

This quiet is terrifying, and I don't know what I can do to stop it. Not from where I stand, looking at him across an empty grave. Some Bagger is filling it with dirt. All I can do is stare at Minho across the way. His eyes don't meet mine. Instead, they pour down into the grave below. At the body hidden by a layer of dirt.

Now I expect the quiet because of the funeral. Although, I don't think I expect him to be standing so sturdy. Minho is many things, but I didn't think he was cloudy eyes staring at dirty. Nor did I think he was shuffling awkwardly as Leo reaches her hand towards his pocket. She misses, although Minho barely takes notice. He seems like the kind for guy to demand what is going on. Although, I have only known him for ten days. That's isn't enough time to know a person. I don't even know myself.

I can't help but wonder what Leo is doing. When she looks away from him, she looks up at me. I don't move either, even though I feel as though I've been shot in the abdomen by her eyes. She has a way of looking at me the way I imagine a Mother does. In a way that makes me feel guilty for all that I've done.

That's how I know the shuffling I heard this morning wasn't my shoes scuffing against the roots on the dirt floor of the Deadheads. Leo saw us. Which for some reason means she needs to talk to us.

Or worse, someone else saw us. Maybe it's one of those Med-jacks. Leo eats all her meals with them, or she does it alone. Otherwise, I don't know who it would be who saw us. Perhaps Ella, although I don't know that she would say anything. Michelle and Leo haven't talked in days; since Michelle's near banishment anyway.

Does Leo have any friends?

The grave is full before I really even took notice that it was filling, and people are filtering away from the grave. I wait for Minho to leave, but I find Newt's hand on his shoulder instead. Alby moves in closer and the rest of the Runners circle in around the grave.

Right, they all knew this kid decently well. His name was Stephen, and I hadn't seen him before I saw his dead body.

Leo's eyes catch mine, and I know I am about to be scolded, so I move away from her. Ducking behind a group of Builders, I search for Fry-pan. She won't do anything suspicious if she is trying to talk to me discreetly. She will wait until I am alone.

"Things have been getting freaky lately." One of them remarks, and I only pay attention because his voice carries and everyone else is quiet.

"Haven't noticed."

"Course you haven't klunk-head." The boy continues, while his friend grumbles. "Since those girls it's been weird. First that girl sees a Griever in the maze in broad daylight and doesn't get mangled? Now Stephen's corpse is toss on our doorstep? Smells fishy."

"Good that."

I can feel my stomach plummeting. Maybe these people aren't a good cover for me to hide. I turn over to Leo, and see the colour that was once in her face drained beneath the collar of her shirt. She should take what these guys say with a grain of salt. What do a bunch of Builders know that I don't? I doubt that crazy stuff doesn't go on in the Glade any day.

"Fry-pan," I see him and duck closer.

He shakes his head at me, "Dawn, not now."

Before I can get another word in, he is whispering in hushed tones to some Builder who doubles as a Cook when we get stressed out. There goes my cover from Leo. Unfortunately now I am stranded in a group of boys who send me side glances. I would stick my tongue out at one, but I am too busy turning my head to stare at Minho.

He's over a grave, heartbroken and I don't know why. I wish he would talk to me. I wish he would talk at all. I miss him, and he's here right in front of me. In fact no matter what I do I can't escape him. It shouldn't be this hard to be with him. Right?

"Don't worry about him." I look down, and am shocked to see my ears haven't betrayed me.

Ella continues to walk forward, out of the Deadheads. She ducks back through the crowd and I follow her, hoping to lose Leo off of my trail.

"Which one?" I ask, unsure if she is talking about the Builders, or Fry-pan, or Minho.

Do I hope she is talking about Minho. To shuck who knows. All I want is to know that he is alright. Minho is the sun. He can't simply just go out after this. He can't just shut down on me. I mean, he's not the only thing I have, but he is the only thing that has me. I trust him because he trusts me in ways that my friendships here don't do. If Ella is here to tell me not to worry about Minho, I will definitely listen.

She shrugs, as if she doesn't know which one she is talking about. "They are just worried. Change arrives, crackling through the night sky with her destruction. It's easier to blame a side-effect than to accept a reality."

She talks in a code that doesn't exist. If it does, I couldn't decipher with all the books it the world. I still would listen to her talk the way she does for ever. I know she is named Ella, but she will still be Curly. And Curly is a mystery I can't find a way to crack.

"What is the reality?"

She smiles at this, looking down as we walk to the Gardens. "That there is no reality."

She skips off towards the tomato plants I constantly see her burying herself in, and I can't help but feel weight lifted off my shoulders. Curly knows something is up, and if she thinks so it must be. As delusional and distant as that girl is, she is right. Whatever is happening to her, I don't think it's a hallucination.

Although, I don't think much anyway.

"Dawn," Leo has finally caught up to me.

I stretch out my shoulders. Here comes the rant and the rave. Instead of shouting, I raise my back and turn towards the Doors.

The ground is still stained with blood as poor Chuck scrubs the cobblestone. I turn away. Leo is pale, but she snaps out of it spinning around and following me.

"A boy almost caught you and Minho in the forest this morning." Her voice is hushed, but I wish it was louder.

I would deny it just to joke with her, because we both know she saw me and Minho lying together, but I can see from her face how worried she is.

But when isn't she worried? She needs this to lighten up.

"No, he didn't." I correct.

She shakes her head moving closer. "Yes, he did. I was there and-"

"I wasn't with Minho," I correct, a smile on my cheeks. "I was with Fry."

She stops moving but I continue forward. A smirk plays with my face as I watch her register it.

"You're kidding." There is doubt in her voice.

I turn my head back to look at her, before I laugh at her shocked face. Mouth ajar, hands pressed tightly into each other. "Yes, I'm kidding, relax."

She takes a deep breath in before she continues. "Did I say Minho? I actually meant Alby the whole time."

"Really?" I continue. She now walks next to me, so I can smile at her out of the corner of my eye. "See, here I've been shacking with Newt this whole time. Does the whole group think I'm with the wrong leader?"

"Shacking?" She asks.

"Yeah," I continue, deciding the word I made up is one that's going to hang around. "You know, like shucking but-"

"I get the picture," she squints as her face grimaces. "The point still stands Dawn. Be careful. You're lucky he didn't want to look."

"You worry too much," I shake my head.

"If I don't worry about you, no one will." Leo continues on, before turning me to face her. "Listen, Dawn-"

"I don't need a lecture Leo. I will be careful." That's a bald faced lie.

Leo shakes her head. "Listen Dawn. I know I am kind of harsh all the time. A little too strict. I tried it on Michelle, and look where it got her. I don't think it is going to work on you either, nor Ella. If I'm going to give you advice, I'm going to calm down about it, and give it to you straight, that way nobody panics and we're all fine. Alright?"

"Where did all this confidence suddenly come from?" I demand.

When she avoids eye-contact with me, I realise it didn't come. That she is trying her best to chill out. I don't blame her. After the way she freaked out two days ago in Minho's room, I would want to calm down too. Because panic doesn't solve anything.

"Anyway, lay it on me," I shove her shoulder slightly as she struggles to breathe, "I deserve it anyway."

She breathes again before continuing. Her voice harsh, slow, and slurring off itself. "You can't keep seeing Minho. You are going to get caught by somebody who isn't as forgiving as the person who caught you today."

"Who?" I only am curious who saw because I know I am going to keep seeing Minho.

She shakes her head as her voice whistles. "I can't tell you. The less anyone knows about any of this the better. But if you keep doing this, you will get caught. And you will be banished. It'll be out of my hands."

"We saved Michelle," she continues.

I shake my head. "Gally did, for reason you won't get. Just lay low, alright? I will talk to Minho."

She can't. If she does Minho will definitely end it. I can't even tell if we are together half the time, even though I desperately want to be.

"I'll talk to him."

Leo shakes her head as she steps backward. "It's better for you to not to be seen together right now."

Quick. I definitely have to think of something. "Not today."

She stops moving away from me, before looking at me. "Because of Stephen? I know he isn't taking it well, but this shouldn't wait."

"No, it should," I will blame it on Stephen's death if that's what it takes. "The boy was under his eye. Only became a Runner recently. Minho trained him, blames himself. At least give him two days before you say anything."

Leo pauses as she stands still, before she nods. Her eyes locked with mine, a brown like Minho's but also completely unlike them. "Alright, I will."


	36. I'm destructive

35 Michelle

Those girls won't stop conspiring with each other. I had forgotten about it before Gally pointed it out again, but now I see it. Talking in hushed tones with pained faces, trying yet falling to hide in the shadow of the Walls.

I know Gally said I should get on the inside of this if we are going to stop the power seize, but now isn't the time. So instead I sit staring at them, glaring into the harsh sun. All activities have been told to stop for the day, so that everyone can mourn. No one is really mourning though. Especially not the Builders.

Before that shank was a Runner he was with the Baggers. For a couple months I think, and those Baggers keep to themselves. Nobody really knew him other than those Runners and the klunk-heads who are supposed to be in charge of law and order. Baggers are good for nothing except digging graves and causing havoc.

So, of course all the Builders are doing is trashing both groups. From what I have come to understand, nobody gets along with anybody. Baggers and Slicers are creepy and should be avoided at all costs. Bricknicks are dumber Builders, and Builders are a lower standard of intelligence anyway. Sloppers are even dumber; they can't do nothing except clean up after the dirty Gladers. Cooks always smell funny, and Track-hoes are enjoyable, but for some reason they have a long going rivalry with the Builders. Only three Med-jacks, two of which probably get up to business they would rather no one else see, so everybody was surprised they let Leo in with open arms. Either they get up to weirder crap than everybody thought, or they are desperate for attention from "the plainest girl here".

"What's her name anyway?" I can't believe I'm still listening to the dumb Builders talk to each other. They aren't even the largest.

The other boy shrugs, leaning back on his hands as he feels the grass.

I stand up, marching past them. Don't need to listen to them talk any longer than I already have. I reach my foot forward, knocking the boys arm down and he falls into the grass.

"What's you're deal Mish?" The boy calls out after me as I storm past.

"It's Michelle," I turn to face him as my brow furrows. "Keep my name of your dirty shucking tongue. Her name is Leo, and if we are honestly you'd be lucky to get with a shucking Griever."

The other Builder laughs at the boy, before the one I insulted takes his cup of water and tosses it at the other boy. The first keeps laughing, as I smile. Walking off, I can't help but wonder why I stood up for Leo. I don't even like her, let alone do I have her back.

Especially when she and Dawn keep doing whatever it is they are doing.

I only glance at them from behind me, as I move to walk past the Homestead.

"Nice of you to call them out."

I turn around to see a boy I don't recognise leaning against the Homestead.

"Sorry, who are you?" I growl. I am not in the mood to meet new people.

"Clint," he answers as if that offers any answers. "I work with Leo, you know doing Med-jack stuff. Dave said you weren't as bad as people thought. He was right."

I stiffen my back. "David's been talking about me?"

He smirks, distracted by the sunlight which causes him to squint. "I thought you'd pretend not to care about Dave talking about you. Since you're all distant."

I glare at him quickly, before spinning around. "I'm not distant."

He chuckles at this. Before looking down at his nails. Why does everyone think I have a complex? Give me a single good reason to trust anyone I've met here.

Clint picks a piece of fluff off of his shoulder, before he flicks it off further away. Without sparing me another glance, he turns his back to me to head around the Homestead. Why are all the boys here so odd? David is apparently obsessed with me, Clint behaves like he is above me and everything else, and there's one kid who's been cleaning up blood off of stone for an hour. Like, does he not get that it isn't going to come off?

Maybe I should tell him. Maybe I should go up that tiny kid, with hair curlier than Ella's, and tell him what he is doing is pointless. I can see his face now. After all, he is scrubbing the blood of someone else off the ground, and he can't be any older than Ella.

That boy is not the kind to argue. His pudgy cheeks would puff up and turn redder than his hair. Redder than my hair. His eyes would water and melt down his face, but he would not make a sound. His lips would quiver and shake as he stared me down. No, he wouldn't stare me down. His eyes would meet mine and then they would dart back to the ground, to the soapy suds soaking into the stone, to the old rust stain of blood on his hands. A stain more accurate to the colour of his hair.

He would freeze, because he wouldn't be able to figure out how to run. The only way that would end is by me leaving. How long would I stand and stare at him?

Unlike him, I would look until the itch on the back of my neck is scratched. Although I know it will only cause problems, I want to go over to that boy and tell him what he is doing is pointless. What we are all doing is pointless. Guilt is the stain of blood on the Glade. Not only are all of our efforts futile to clean this mess, but we will always carry the weight of that uselessness.

Because that Slopper boy is useless. Just as useless as I am, and Gally is, and every single person in this Glade. We run like guinea pigs through this Maze with no success. What is the point to this all? To try and survive? Trying and surviving are two different things, and while surviving is easy trying feels impossible. How can we try when there is the blood of a boy spilt on the ground, and Leo and Dawn are conspiring off in the corner, and there were no really consequences for the Baggers who nearly got me killed?

I'm walking closer to the boy, and I don't even mean to be. My feet are carrying me closer and closer to the boy, a bird circling in on its prey. Who does he think he is? Who do I think I am? Why does everything make me so angry all the time?

My fingers clench, white knuckles turning red, turning fear the colour of fury, turning me from drained to passion, smoke to fire. I am alive even if it feels like I am about to combust. Why does life flow through my fingers in waves of heat that make my stomach burn and disintegrate? Do my insides hurt from the heat that waves through me, or the acid that plagues my soul? Does it really matter anyway?

I turn away from the boy, spinning into the pen with the animals. Not into it, beside it, running my hands along the wood and past the animals. Past the pigs and cows alive and waiting, and the few chickens mulling about.

Into the farm and into the room. There is a table, and a knife, and a freezer against the wall. Inside the freezer, grab the meat, red like blood, like my hair and that boy's hair. Red like fury and passion and injustice and the fight to survive. Pick it up. Carry it to the table and there is a knife. A butcher knife with a thick handle and a thicker blade. Into the meat, slicing at the meat and the bone. Splintering it in half, leaving a sliver scratch across the table. Silver like grey, like the cobblestone that is the Walls that keep me pinned up against boys that keep me pinned up against the ground.

The meat is tough and difficult to tear to shreds, and it isn't what I had expected it to be. It isn't what I wanted. I wanted everything to shatter in my fingers. To prove that I actually to wield power and potency. Instead, all I have been able to prove is that I can barely chopped up a piece of meat into nothing, let alone could I take on an angry boy. I am no angry boy. I am angry.

It's quick but I turn around throwing the butcher knife towards the door behind me. As it creeks open. The hilt of the knife hits the door, falling to the ground, as a boy peeks around the other side to stare at me.

He's taller with dark hair and skin only lighter by a few shades. He looks at me and cocks an eye. Why is everyone here so cocky in every sense of the world?

"Shut it," I begin.

He scoffs, looking over at me. "I could report you to Alby for breaking into my meat locker. What did that rack of ribs ever do to you?"

"Nothing," I roll my eyes at him as he continues to stare me down. "What? Would you just get on to reporting me already?"

"I'm not going to," he says simply. "Just don't go messing with my stuff again."

I drop the meat, not onto the table but onto the ground. And then I step on it as I move over towards him. Luckily my boot is thick, because I can feel the rubber slipping against the meat on the clean ground. Thankfully the ground is un-sanded planks of wood. Thankfully that boy doesn't follow me out of his meat locker either.

As soon as I am outside, I see the sun burying itself in the sky.

How long was in there destroying?

Why does that seem to be the only thing I am good at?


	37. I'm attentive

6 Ella

She knows blue like I know purple. It's an intuition that I've got inside the sleeve of my shirt as I stare Leo down. Breakfast in the grass, with two grey boys. In their absorption of her colour I can tell that they are the ones who work with her. Relaxing in the long grass, laughter humming all the way from the Homestead to me. They wait for a Builder to hurt themselves (one always does), since there isn't much else to do.

I can tell they know grey like I know lilac skies.

It's a Story Book. Almost a fairy tale, since all the things fated to happen happen at once in a perfect order. Enter from above stage right: boy with grey skin but a bright red ankle. An ankle red from hitting the ground, dropping down from above stage right. Three heads turn as if marching to the beat of the same drum. Leo is the first on her feet, moving into center stage as lingering fingers part. One grey boy to get medical supplies, another to Leo.

Fourth grey boy peeks down from up stage right. His feet dangle over the edge as his eyes stare at the boy on the ground. A flash of red and Michelle is at his side. She crouches, her arm on his shoulder, and from where the light leeks I try to discern who the boy is. He is not the Keeper of the Builders, but he leaves Michelle's side after glancing up at her, moving to the back of the roof.

Enter Michelle to downstage right. Her feet hit the ground, raising up dust around her like a cloud. Like the smoke that surrounds the man that plagues my dreams. Only brown and earthy and real. Everything the smoke man is not.

She looks at the boy from a distance, before the grey boy from above rounds the back of the Homestead, moving closer to Leo on the ground. The other grey medic runs in with supplies, and they all help the boy up off the ground.

Though he is surrounded by coddling strangers, I can see the bright red ankle has dyed to a swelling pink, as well as the left side of his head down to his ear.

Exit all except Leo and Michelle.

Michelle leans against the wall, which creaks under her back. Leo stands up, and even though she is down stage and closer than me, she is taller than Michelle. Michelle's red fights with Leo's green. I know how complementary colours work. They bring out the other's brilliance, but do not mix together. Like oil and water, I watch as Michelle's warmth spreads over, drowning out Leo. I would feel bad if Leo could stand up for herself. Instead she cowers in the grass, hoping some of the earth will stand up for her.

I wonder when she will understand physics. Her feet push down on the ground will equal force to what it exerts on her.

There is grey air. Charcoal in colour but real in origin. I watch in float and circle by the west door. It is not early enough for such a dense fog to be arriving.

It is unlike the smoke man. He is like a gas, in the sense that he fills up the room while swallowing you whole. You can see through him as though he is nothing but a light grey fog. One that enters your mind and clogs up your arteries until it is hard to breathe. This heavy grey looks like a thundering cloud come down to the Earth. It doesn't spread apart as he enters, nor does it pool and puddle. It is thick and dark. Everything that enters it becomes invisible, and it is moving closer.

"Who is that?" I ask Zart.

I've become accustomed to his fake name. On him it seems to snuggle up against his skin. I've come to terms with the fact that our names are more like classifications, since I will have to use them if I ever plan on actually addressing people. Besides, Zart's grey is not so much grey as it is faded. Behind that there is a brilliant turquoise. I wonder if perhaps that is the colour which he is draining from me.

Except I know that it isn't. My colour, whatever it is, is not turquoise.

Zart turns his head away from the ripe tomatoes in his hands. There is dirt on his forehead, that he only smudges further into his sweating skin as he glances down at the boy.

"He's back early," he frowns, "limping. Maybe he ran into a Griever."

That would explain the darkness that swarms his skin. I wonder what exactly Grievers are supposed to be mourning. Maybe it is the lives they are taking beyond these walls.

"They protect us."

Mauve hands lay down on mine. She is before me again. With blonde hair and a voice unlike any that has ever rung a sound.

"The Grievers?" I ask the question to both of them.

When she hears the question she shakes her head. "The Walls."

"It would be weird, they don't normally come out during the day." Zart is oblivious to the conversation I am having.

When I blink she is gone. Her colour has sunk away into the words that tumble out of Zart's mouth. When I glance at him he squints at me.

"With the exception of that time your friend ran into one of them on her first day here." He bites the words, and all traces of purple are gone. "Made a lot of boys talk. Apparently she ran off into an area Minho doesn't normally go and climbed up the Walls. I thought it was enough to wake 'em up. Gally and him on the other hand..."

I barely pay attention as Zart gestures to the boy up in front of us. The one who's smoke carries them into the Homestead.

Whoever is behind that layer, makes my skin boil.

I can't tell who he is, let alone his intentions, though I doubt they are good. Perhaps he wears a Griever on his skin. The colour might be that of whatever it is those Grievers do.

"If they don't kill you, what do they do?" I ask, looking up at Zart.

He shrugs, burying himself in the tomatoes again. "You go through the changing. Better off dead for the most part."

His words echo through the Glade, and for a second everyone turns turquoise. For a second, there is no grey world, but one of feeling and merit. All because of the changing.

"Changing?"

He cocks an eye, before licking his lips. "You're suddenly so talkative."

After that my mouth seals itself shut. I don't mean to be asking questions. People only give you answers they want you to hear. It is better to search for the truth without the aid of someone else. Still, Zart glances up at me past his eyebrows, before digging his hands deeper into the soil.

"The changing affects the body," Zart begins. "Bloodshot eyes, pale and clammy skin, bruises and pain. Seizures and hallucinations are a common side effect too. Med-jacks can't do much about it except give you Grief Serum."

Seizures and hallucinations are pretty much routine for me at this point. Waking up with mysterious bruises and aching bones happens far too often for someone who hasn't seen two weeks.

"That's not the worst of it though," he doesn't look up at me as he continues. "No one wakes up the same. Changes the mind, you know. Only seen three go through it before, and two of 'em are dead now. One from the insanity, one unrelated. Gally is the only one left standing, and he's not all that great anyway."

"What happens to the mind?"

He stops digging, still on his knees as he looks up at me.

"You start to remember."

Remember. I need to remember what real sun feels like on my skin. Though it may be best to be forgotten, I must know what the smoke man did to me, and why he did in the first place. I need to remember all the shades of purple. And I must understand why the Creators have locked us in this fish bowl.

All of the answers lie at the fingertips of a monster, and in the liquid of a bottle. I must know.


	38. I'm recalling

37 Leo

"Is that guy still here?" Jeff calls in the room.

I wrap my hand around the cool glass bottle, turning as I look at the clear liquid inside. Nothing here has labels, and I can't tell if this is adrenaline or an analgesic. I pick up the other in my hands, staring at the different options. Does adrenaline have the red lid? Or is it grey? I always forget.

"You know, you really should label these," I can't keep forgetting this. I definitely don't want to give another person adrenaline by accident. Once was enough for my whole life.

Jeff reaches over my shoulder, past me, to the bottle with the black lid.

"Black for analgesic," he begins, "red for adrenaline."

"What's grey then?" I demand.

He scrunches his nose up at me, before sighing. "Clint?"

There is silence that trails after his words and out the door. Clint's with the Runner. I don't know his name; it's not often I have occasion to actually see them since they come home so late. The Runner only has a sprained ankle, so he should've been done twenty minutes ago. I can't imagine those two talking. Clint is quite the character, and while the Runner seems nice, he feels distant.

When there is no response, Jeff turns back to me. He mocks annoyance, but I can tell he is just excited he gets to talk.

"Right, so grey is for penicillin," Jeff begins. "Think of grey being dull, and we don't use penicillin all that much. I've used it once, and Clint twice. Every time it's some kid in the blood house who cuts his shucking hand open, and then ignores it and gets raw meat in his hand. It's not just the Builders who are idiots, I hope you know. It's everybody."

"And red for adrenaline, and black for the analgesic?" I prompt further.

"Black for pain, because that's what you use analgesic to cure. Red for the colour adrenaline makes you see." He takes the bottle with the red lid and puts it back on the shelf. "Or, after, if you don't know the difference between adrenaline and analgesic."

I do feel really bad about that, but Jeff pats me on the shoulder in solidarity when I look down.

"Rookie mistake, don't worry-"

"Jeff!"

Clint's voice echoes from the hall.

"What?" Jeff shouts back, turning towards the door.

The air is thin, as sound fails to travel through it.

"I don't know, you called me."

Jeff rolls his eyes, but a goofy smile plasters itself on his cheeks. "Yeah, nevermind."

Those two will be the death of me. Calling to each other through the Homestead late at night is the beginning of their shenanigans. They are always playfully bickering, and threatening to put the other in a bed in the med room. If I didn't know they were joking, I would've lost my mind by now.

There is only one thing I could ever hope for. One day, I wish for the four of us girls to be as tight knit as Clint and Jeff. I long for the night where we sit around a campfire, and someone shoves someone else over, and we all laugh. I'm not a worried stickler for no reason. The only thing that keeps the four of us from clawing at each other's throats are the rules that prevent us from doing so.

Michelle still blames me for her near banishment, Dawn is mad at me for telling her to break it off with Minho, and Ella has been avoiding us all since she had her first seizure. I'm supposed to be a leader, but I can't hold them all together.

That's my final goal. Before we can live in peace and harmony, and all that klunk I remember hearing about don't remember the conversation or the context, we must be safe. That's the issue at play here. Michelle fears the Gladers, Dawn fears nothing but ought to fear more, and Ella only recently admitted she was named Ella.

Until then, I've got to keep moving.

"You taking that to Ming?" Jeff gestures to the black-lidded bottle in my hand.

I nod my head up and down. For a second I got lost in thought. Right, I came in here to grab an analgesic for Ming, the Builder who fell off of the second floor of the Homestead earlier today. Right now I'm not some big leader, who has to change the world. I'm not in charge, nor am I the only reasonable one. I'm just Leo.

Leo the new Med-jack, who knows what all the different medicines do but can never remember the colour of their lids. Who accidentally gives people shots of adrenaline. Who once bandaged a wrist so tight the poor Slopper had to come back an hour later with a bruise.

I can just be me. A girl who needs to bring a boy medicine. Who is actually solving problems.

"Yeah," I look down at the bottle in my hand, returning my mind to Jeff.

"Don't," he answers. "The kid's leg wasn't even fractured. If he says he still needs that, then what he wants is the blue bottle."

I don't remember what was in the blue bottle, so I stare at Jeff for a few seconds before he sighs.

"Morphine," he shakes his head at me as he carefully takes the bottle from my hands. "Morphine with the green lid for how it makes people feel if they use it too long. I trust you learned enough after we gave you the tour and did inventory for twelve hours for you to know why we don't use morphine."

"Morphine isn't the same as paracetamol, or ibuprofen, or whatever is in the analgesic bottle," I sigh. "It certainly isn't as addictive as morphine, nor is it as potent."

Jeff nods, before handing me back the bottle. "Getting smarter Greenie. Did you find one of the medical books up under Clint's mattress then? Wouldn't he like to know you've been snooping around the Homestead when he isn't around?"

No, I hadn't been. "You do realise the book with all the information is next where we keep the sheets of inventory? I've become familiar with its contents."

He scoffs, but then squints. "You memorized all that in what, a week? Took me a solid month to learn the difference between anesthesia and adrenaline."

I wince at the thought of confusing those two. It wasn't hard for me to remember all that information. Reading would be a harsh way to put it; I more so perused the contents. It mostly felt like revising anyway.

"Maybe you're just a super genius," his smile makes a sound similar to a laugh, but more teasing than actual enjoyment leaves his lips. "Then again, you can't seem to remember the basic colours of our supplies, so maybe not."

I would play along, but I just shake my head. There is no need to tell him that while I don't think I am super smart, it is definitely odd I picked up on it so quickly. Perhaps I would pick up on cooking, or building just as easily. I don't think I would. I am quick, but not that quick.

For some reason I know a lot about medicine. Or at least, can understand it quickly.

Which is odd, probably. I wonder what else I know that the others do not. Maybe I had some form of higher education where I came from, or maybe I was really sick when I was younger so I learnt the names of all the medication I could take, only for the information to be soften in my head by my memories being erased.

Not that any of that matters. Sure I wish I knew why I was here, but there is no use dwelling on that. Obviously the only thing worth noting is that I had no idea who I was, but I think I'm starting to figure it out.

"When I figure it out, I will get back to you." I won't, but I imagine Jeff will forget by then. Clint sees and remembers everything, but Jeff has the memory of a goldfish.

How do I know the memory span of a goldfish?

"Right, don't bring that to Ming anyway."

What? "Why not? I was right about the addictiveness of analgesics as a group, and though we can't determine-"

"Ming has done this before. Four times now, actually, which isn't a lot since he only came here six months before you guys. First time he took a nasty hit to the finger with a hammer, and we pumped him through with morphine, since the finger was so broken it was shattered. Came back next month when part of the Homestead collapsed on him. Two weeks ago he was, apparently, hit in the head with a plank of wood. Not a mark on him, no dizziness, no trouble focusing or recalling, no signs of concussion."

"So he wasn't hit on the head?" I ask.

He nods. "That's when I figured it out. Clint was suspicious when he was caught under the rubble and asked for morphine again. Only gave him the analgesic, but that seemed to have been enough for Ming to come back for more. I just never thought he would throw himself on a building. How much of that have you given him?"

I look down at the bottle, before handing it to him. "Only a little. I didn't give it to him anyway. Clint gave him the injection."

He frowns for a while, before turning back towards the door. Not again.

"Clint?" Jeff calls. "Now!"

Something falls to the ground below us, and I hear grunting, before I hear Clint's heavy footsteps bounding up the stairs.

"What?" Clint is visibly frazzled when he stands in the doorway. "Jeff, what?"

"Did you give Ming a shot of morphine?" Jeff crosses his arms.

Like a little kid caught on the counter stealing cookies, Clint freezes. His face goes tight and his eyes wide, before he books it down the stairs.

Jeff clumsily hands me the bottle before darting after his friend.

I stifle my laughter. Those two boys are as thick as thieves, but bicker like little children. Clint leads in an odd fashion; he may be in charge of Jeff on paper, but he treats the two as equals. In every respect, they are. Sure, Clint has been around longer than Jeff, but they both have equal knowledge to how medicine works, and how the Glade works.

That would be a better way to lead. To understand that though the four of us are different, we are all experts in our own rights. Michelle knows how to fight, and carries on in the face of adversary like no one I have ever seen. Dawn survives by being social; I don't know anyone who isn't absolutely in love with her. Despite her silence, I am sure Ella is good at something. Maybe she's good at observing us. She seems to have a bigger catalogue on the Glade and its on-goings than I could ever hope to amass.

The sun is going down when I peek out the window, and a few thoughts cross my mind. The first, being that Minho must be back, and I was supposed to inform him about the accident in the maze today. After that, I remember I told Dawn I was going to tell Minho to back off and away from her, for both of their goods.

I don't think I can do that anymore.

Carefully, I put the bottle back on the shelf, staring down the contents.

Black for analgesic, red for adrenaline, grey for penicillin, green for morphine, and the only one I do remember, yellow as a sedative.

I forget what blue is, and I don't know why that colour stands out to me as I close the cabinet doors.

My feet quietly carry me down the stairs of the Homestead, as I glance around for Jeff and Clint spotting me sneaking around. They move me out the door, and down the steps off the porch. Now, if I was the Keeper of the Runners with a secret, where would I be sneaking off to? The Runners always head to the map room when they get back, but the Doors closed while I was in the Homestead, so they should be out and about by now.

When I spot Minho, he is standing with Newt, talking in a hushed voice. I can't make out what exactly they are talking about, but I feel myself wanting to move into the conversation and talk to Minho.

The thing is, if it were any other Glader, I would. Newt knows though. Maybe he doesn't know its Minho, but it would raise his suspicions if one of the only Gladers to be close with a girl needs to talk to me urgently.

Why am I even talking to him anyway? Because Newt suggested it. The thing is, I decided I would let Dawn take control of this, right? If I keep babying her, she is just going to keep sneaking around and doing things behind my back. Besides, I'm not her mother, and I would worry about her regardless.

I will talk to Newt. I'm sure he will understand that I can't, and I'm sure he will appreciate why. As long as I explain myself.

But I can't do that now. Tomorrow.

"What are you doing, just standing there and staring?" I glance down to see the boy I know is in charge of Michelle. Gally is his name.

I flinch at his gaze before stiffening.

"Nothing," I manage.

He sniffs before turning away from me. Why is he so suspicious of me?


	39. I'm Glancing

38 Dawn

"You have to admit, it is a bit suspicious."

Smoke pillows out of the oven, and I cough as I try to grab the pig out from inside the inferno. I shrug, though from the loud chopping behind me, I know Frypan isn't paying any attention to my gesture. There are currently too many people in the kitchen for me to acknowledge what he is saying.

Dave has come to help out, since the new room of the Homestead is almost done. Then there is that prankster Frankie, who is responsible for the pig head in the oven when I first started working here. And Joe, who is in the kitchen almost as much as Frypan, but who has never said a word to me.

"I don't," I correct, struggling not to choke on the smog.

We normally have two more people in here helping out around dinner time, but apparently other people are busy. Which doesn't actually make sense to me, except for that they just are moving slowly. Before he was a Runner, Stephen was a Bagger who helped out in the kitchen sometimes. I think the boys are trying to avoid the kitchen as best as they can.

Mourning is a funny thing. I couldn't even imagine what it taste like, but it sends shivers up my spine regardless. And not the good kind.

"Fry-"

"I'm serious," he cuts off Dave as he tries to speak. "You know it too Dave. Things haven't been the same."

I grab hold of the pig with my oven mitts, moving in on to the island in the middle of the Kitchen. "And what exactly was it like before, huh Fry? Was it better?"

"Well it sure as shuck ain't worse." He notes, not glancing up from the orange carrots at the tips of his fingers.

"I'm sure you believe in coincidences Fry." Dave rationalises with the boy, from where he smashes potatoes to mush.

Dave seems to be pretty strong from working with the Builders. How Michelle manages to keep her eyes off of him and do her work astounds me. I mean, he doesn't look anything too impressive. Regular cropped sandy brown hair, and a straight toothed smile. Strong build but average height, and freckles across his cheeks. Maybe attractive isn't her type.

His eyes are blue though, and they couldn't compete with Minho's.

"You're kidding," Frankie shakes his dark black hair. He has darker skin, and a crooked smile that fits his goofy demeanor. "No offense Dee, but you did have a nasty run in with a Griever the first time you stepped in the Maze, so forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious."

"Yeah, no offense Frankie, but you did put a giant pig-head in the oven on my first day, so forgive me if I'm a bit suspicious." I snap back.

Frankie's face tinges pink, but his eyes flush with a grin when he hears Fry laughing behind him.

"Dawn's got it in her, ain't she?" He looks up from the carrots, and I realise he wasn't trying to attack me. All he needed was a bit of reassurance that I was on his side. And I am. Until the end I will be on Frypan's side. And that includes everyone in the kitchen.

"What do you think Joe?" I ask, glancing over at the boy as he shucks corn. "Think I'm a menace to society."

"Joe doesn't think," Frankie jokes, sticking his tongue back at the boy. "He just grunts and shuffles."

Joe scrunches his nose up, before shooting Frankie a glance.

"Careful Frankie," Fry warns, "last guy to cross Joe-"

"-got food poisoning or some other klunk, I am well aware of your idle threats Fry, but believe me when I say I am not afraid to start a prank war."

"I am afraid of you starting a prank war," Dave drops the mashed potatoes in a large pot next to Fry, before shrugging. "Anyway, duty calls. Someone ruined the drywalling today, so I want to finish it before somebody else shucks it up tomorrow."

"Please, you'll finish it tonight and a Builder will still manage to shuck it up." Frankie takes hold of the potatoes before he moves them elsewhere.

I shake my head from side to side, but a smile plays on my lips as Dave exits the door. The kitchen is my home, and all of the people in it. I never thought I would actually enjoy working in this place, but it is a sort of thrilling. We get so many different people in and out every day; it is like exploring the world from this small corner. Of course, in a few weeks I am going to try my hardest to get off my feet and into the Glade.

I am nothing if not an adventurer, and that Glade is at my fingertips.

"You're good too, Dawn." Frypan tells me. "So long as that pig is done."

I nod, dropping the oven mitts off my hand, and turning around to turn off the oven. "So dinner in what, an hour?"

He turns his head, looking over at Joe. Joe silently nods, before Frypan turns back to me.

"Half that time."

"Ooh, look at that," I head to the door as I hear Frankie laughing. "Dinner might actually be served lukewarm tonight instead of frigid. Frypan, you-"

I head out the door, escaping the last of Frankie's joke.

Frankie got kicked out of the Blood house after a prank gone wrong. Now, no one will tell me exactly what it was, only that it was awesome and that Winston is still itchy. Dave only joins us to get out of building early, and if you ask me he is both way too nice and way too kind to be a Builder. And I know as much about Joe as I do about trigonometry, which is to say nothing.

When I close the door, I see Leo leaning over the box hole, staring down at the metal that covers it. Odd as Curly, I can't help but wonder what she is doing. In a few short steps, I am next to her, leaning forward.

"What are you up to?"

She flinches at my voice, before she looks over at me. Her mouth opens, and then closes as her brow furrows. She turns back to the box hole, biting the inside of her cheek.

"Remember how I said I would talk to Minho?" She asks.

Of course, I couldn't forget. Did she already? I was trying to get to him before her, but it's been hard to find him. He's been more than distant since Stephen's funeral. Is it because she said something.

"I realised I need to trust you more," she begins, glancing from the box hole to me. "Because, right now I'm not being a good..." Leo trails off before she sighs. "I'm not being good for you. Whenever I try to tell people what to do it only seems to backfire."

"So you're condoning-"

"I am not condoning anything," she looks back at me, her eyes wet as the wind whips through our hair. Why does everything seem so serious for her? "Trust me, I think what you and Minho are doing is so very stupid. I, however, am accepting that you have just as much agency as me, and I can't stop you and Minho from doing whatever you want. Just tell him that Newt knows that something is up, and that you need to be more careful."

My head spins around until I am looking at Minho and Newt. "Newt knows?"

"Klunk, I didn't..." Leo trails off again as she forms her idea into a sentence. "Newt doesn't know that it is you and Minho, but he knows that it is a girl and a boy. Don't let him puzzle it together, alright? For his sake as much yours."

"Sure," I brush her off, because all I can think about is Minho. His eyes and his smile, and his thoughts.

He glances up at me, before he smiles.

My feet are moving towards before I hear Leo calling out my name, and before I hear her feet shuffling after mine.

"How's your day been?" I ask, looking up to Newt and Minho.

Leo huffs behind me, as she catches up, placing a hand over her chest.

Newt gives us an odd glance, before he huffs out a smile. "Pretty good. A couple of accidents. I see you've heard the news."

"The news?" I ask.

Minho looks from Newt, to Leo to me, and that back at all three of us again. As if he is deciding whose side he is on.

"Yeah, news." He speaks begrudgingly, which makes Newt send him an odd look, and then me an odd look.

Woah, there is way too much going on right now. Especially in all these glances going around. So I know that Newt knows something is up. Leo knows that I know, but she also knows that Newt and Minho don't know. Minho thinks only Leo is on to us, and has no idea, as far as I know, that Newt thinks something is up. As far as I can tell, Newt is suspicious, but then again so is Frypan and so is everybody. This is too exhausting to think about.

Basically, I need to tell Minho about Newt, but I can't. It also seems that Newt and Minho know something that I don't know.

"What's the news?" Leo asks, cocking her head to the side.

Newt squints at her, before looking down. "Right, I was going to tell you today, but then a couple disasters later-"

"Disasters?" Minho and I say at the same time.

Minho is just to the right of me, and he and I both look at each other as we say it, before glancing away. I feel his hand reaching behind me, and slipping something in my back pocket.

"A Builder fell, and a Runner twisted his ankle," Leo tells us, glancing at me. "I thought Newt would've told you Minho."

"I did," Newt begins. "That's why we have news."

Newt cast Minho a glance, with furrowed brows and eyes that squint in a "Why Are You Being So Weird" glance. Minho responds by widening his eyes and huffing out a breath of air in a "I Am Not Being Weird, Why Are You Making This Weird By Asking Me Why I Am Being So Weird" look. Leo bites her cheek in a "Dear God This Can't Be Happening, What Have I Gotten Myself Into, And Why Is It Always Me Who Gets Involved In These Terrible Situations" way. I can only imagine my face sports a "What The Shuck Is Going On" expression that no one notices or answers.

"There is-"

"Going to be a new Runner," Minho cuts off Newt, and looks straight at me as he says it, but still grimaces at the words.

Why didn't he want to tell me? Is this what they've been hiding?

"Yeah, so we are going to be looking at candidates soon," Newt continues. "As soon as we fly it by Alby. There's already a few people we have in mind. We'll bring it up at the next Gathering anyway."

"More Runners?" I ask.

Newt's shoulders fall. "You're not still hung up on that are you?

"We don't take on new Runners until they've been here at least a month, and we don't have the time to wait for you to get there." Newt gives Minho another weird look after he speaks, but I pay it no mind. I can tell that Minho isn't telling me the entire truth of the matter. So what exactly is he hiding from me?

I nod, before the bell rings. Dinner already? Not even half an hour it seems.

"Well, that's dinner." Leo drags me off a little too quickly, which makes Newt send the two of us a weird glance.

I turn, shrugging myself out of her grip, as I look back at Newt and Minho.

Minho lowers his hand to his pocket, as he bites his lip.

Right, he gave me something.

When I reach inside, I find a strip of paper, coiled up. I unroll the sheet, to reveal in scratchy handwriting:

Tomorrow night in the Map room.


	40. I'm joking

9 Michelle 

There is dust caking my face when I wake up. My skin sticks against the rough floor as I peel my face up and off the ground. My shoulders ache and bones groan under the pressure of supporting my shoulders.

"You've got a lot of freckles on your shoulders."

I shrug up my red plaid flannel over my pale shoulders, covering my tank top completely. I recognise Gally's voice without glancing back. When I glance out the window, I notice it is barely the crack of dawn. What is he doing up so early?

My eyes find him over my shoulder, and I glare as my hands find the buttons running down my shirt. I stare him down as I button myself up, my hair falling into my eyes.

"And you reek, when was the last time you took a shower?"

I stand up, my thick boots manage to grip on to the dusty ground. When I glance up, I notice the drywall on the ceiling is already flaking off and down on to the ground.

"Yesterday," I tell Gally, not sparing my eyes from the ceiling. "We're going to have to redo the ceiling today, before we can begin any work on the floor."

Gally crosses his arms, moving closer to me. "Weren't you and David working on that last night?"

I glance at him. He is standing so close to me our shoulders brush. Stepping off to the side, I draw my attention back to the white flakes falling from the roof. "Yeah, we did."

I haven't forgotten the last interaction between David and Gally. When they stood next to each other in some weird primal "I'm bigger than you" contest where they both think they have won, and in reality both are losers. I know that rivalry isn't over from the way Gally stiffens at the thought of David and I being alone together.

"You know he only wants to get your shucking clothes off."

I blow a hair out of my face. "I came to help him, to help you not have to redo the walls tomorrow."

"Sure," he backs away from me, moving towards a wall. "That's why he skipped out on dinner, and that's why he is always staring at you."

"And so what, maybe I'm staring at him back," I snap.

I'm not. David and I are just friends. Just like Gally and I are just friends. If Gally has feelings for me, he needs to push them aside. We're supposed to be teaming up to take down Leo and Alby, and that whole regime. I don't have time to be concerning myself with Gally's petty emotions.

"Keep your voice down." It's not a suggestion, and it makes me actually stare at Gally. His cheeks are tinged peak, and his arms are on his hips as he stares me down. He tries to command the situation by seeming bigger and stronger than I am. I'm not stupid; I know Gally is shorter for a guy. Shorter than David, in fact. It doesn't even matter that I am shorter than both of them either, because when I place my hands on my own hips I watch him blink.

It's a flinch.

"Why?" My lips curl around the word, and my brow furrows.

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest and stepping closer to me. "Alby is looking for any excuse to banish you, and he hasn't had any ramifications about believing false allegations before."

I remember. It was dark on the day that they tried to banish me. So dark that my blood look the same as the colour of the dirt they dragged me through. The pain my ripped knuckles felt as they tried to rip the collar off around my neck, and the watching shadows as they stared me down won't be forgotten.

Right, this is how I know I can't trust Leo. She talked big to try to help me, but she stood still and did nothing. If it weren't for Gally, I would be dead.

"Right," I can't admit that I feel sorry, but Gally can read it off my face. Somehow, he understands me. We are not made of the same material, but carved by the same hands. The tools of betrayal, or hard-work and loneliness have chipped away at our souls, until he and I look the same.

We were not born the same, but we have come to be no different from each other.

It's weird, to realise in some backwards way we care about each other. Even if it is simply as an ends to a means. We have a weird way of showing that we matter to one another. It's hard for me to even think it, but Gally is one of my only allies. Screw the coalition; I choose to fight for what I have been made into.

"What's your problem with David anyway?" I mean it as more of a joke, but I don't think I am the kind of person who knows how to joke.

Gally shrugs. "Nothing, David is a good guy."

"He lied to your face," I tell him, "remember? He said he stole the screwdriver, when I did."

"Exactly," Gally affirms, "he's a good guy, but just because he saved your life doesn't mean either us have to like him, and it certainly doesn't mean it is a good idea for you to be, shucking, I don't know..."

"Sleeping with him," I finish.

I don't have to say I agree with him for him to know I think he is right. Besides, I am not even interested in David, like I previously said. Although I am glad to know Gally isn't just jealous. Dear God, the thought of even sleeping with Gally makes me want to vomit.

He nods, but doesn't smile, instead he stares up at the ceiling. "We're going to have to spend all day fixing the ceiling, aren't we?"

I nod in agreement.

He sighs, shrugging his shoulders. "I will halt all construction up top then, until tomorrow. You me and David will fix the ceiling by lunch."

"You're giving the Builders the day off?" I turn to face him, wearing the puzzle I am trying to solve on my face. Gally is all about hard-work. What's with the sudden change?

"We need to give the drywall a chance to dry before we go stamping around up there," he tells me. "And if Alby has a problem with it, he can stick it wear the sun don't shine."

If I have the afternoon off, I will have the perfect chance to cozy up to Leo and figured out what exactly her plan is with Dawn, Newt and Minho, and if there is an easy way for me to take it down.

"Right, well I am going to get David," Gally notes, moving to walk out the room.

"He'll probably be helping with breakfast in the kitchen," I call over my shoulder, moving towards a bucket in the corner.

Inside is drywall that has had the pleasure of drying overnight. I manage to lug up the heavy bucket, staring down at the tools cemented inside the bucket. Great, which shuck-head left the mud uncovered? I drop it down to the ground, and it lands with a heavy thud. Now I am going to have to go find the Bricknicks, and explain the situation again. Who knows, maybe the construction of this room will be entirely halted for the week until we can get more supplies.

There are two days until the next shipment, and about one day after that before the Bricknicks get their klunk together, and manage to get the mud ready for us to use. Because if there is one thing I have noticed in my short time here: Bricknicks are dumb shucking Builders, and Builders are slintheads to begin with.

Honestly, you'd think they were the Greenies and not me.

I look out the window, staring out into the early morning light. The wood on the window sill is moist to the touch, but I don't mind the water sinking into my stained and dirty flannel. Thankfully we didn't put in glass pane to help with airflow, so I can completely stare out into the damp morning.

The Walls rumble and move to the side, and I watch as Runners slip out through the cracks in the door just forming. I recognise Minho, slipping away and glancing back at the Map-room. Probably looking for Leo. Is she sleeping with just Alby, or is it everybody else in this shuck Glade as well?

I scan around, looking for her, but she sits far away from where Minho casted a glance. On the porch, with an apple in her hand. She takes a carefully bite at it, staring down at the red fruit.

Besides Leo, I don't see any other Med-jacks around, and I should recognise them from the Builders constantly getting injured. I watch as the Keeper of the Gardens, What's-his-Nuts, begins to move over to his precious tomato plants. For some reason I see him pouring over them every day. I'm not sure why I watch him; I don't even like tomatoes.

And in the garden, is Pipsqueak. Curly or Ella or whatever. She is up awfully early, or maybe she didn't sleep at all last night. Now, I need to keep my eye on her. She is prone to seizures and whatever, and knows way too much for my liking. Or, really, for anyone's liking. I hear people whispering about her more than I hear them whispering about Leo. Not as much as Dawn though, since no Builder knows how to keep it in their own pants.

Maybe I should spy on her too. I'll see what Gally thinks when he comes back. After we finish the ceiling.

"Looking for me?" I turn around, to see Gally walking in the room, with David slowly falling behind. Is Gally trying to make a joke?

"Please," I roll my eyes. "Who would want to look at you?"

David cocks his eyebrow at me, and I can see the smirk on his cheek. When my eyes meet his, he stares at me for a few seconds before he looks down. Fiddling with something in his hands, something I can't see, and don't really care to see.

"You're funny," Gally's lips are pressed tightly together, and his eyes stare dead at me.

I shrug my shoulders, and I hear David snort.

Gally frowns, so to avoid the upcoming brawl between him and David, I kick forward the bucket of drywall. The plastic creaks as it struggles around the weight of the dried substance inside.

"Some shank left the bucket uncovered." I let my eyes glance down to it.

Gally crosses his arms, and David crosses the room to pick it up. He takes it in his hands, winking at me as he does. Who does he think he is?

"I'll go see if the Bricknicks have any more," he picks up the bucket as if it weighs nothing as he leaves the room.

Gally looks at me for a second, and as soon as I hear the front door to the Homestead slam, I return Gally's glare.

"Ella," I begin. "What are we going to do about her?"


	41. I'm black

Ella 40

"I thought you might like this," in his hands, his tinged grey hands, he has a daisy chain.

The flowers look grey, and I wonder if his dirty hands smudged the colour away, or if his hands are dirty from the daisies. Braided together back and forth, the flowers seem to be a sort of crown. Cautiously, I take it out of his hands, looking up at him and then back down.

"I'm not sure-"

"You wear it, Curly," Zart looks down at the flowers in my hands. His fingers move tentatively into my hands, picking the flowers up, and placing them on my head. I can barely feel them between the mass of hair that swallows me whole.

I wonder what the flowers look like on my head. If they tinge me grey, or if they fill with colour. Still, I don't think I want to take it off. Especially not when I see the way Zart grins at me when he sees the petals sitting atop my head.

"I thought daisies would look nice on your head." He begins, turning his attention away from me and back to the tomatoes.

It's very fortunate that he basically worships his tomatoes. Of course he tends to the other plants in the Garden as well, including the apples in the Deadheads and the cabbage and spinach, but the tomatoes are closest to where I sit and pretend to work, so Zart and I are together quite frequently. It also helps that the other Track-hoes work around the rest of the Gardens, and generally stay out of my way. Zart never says anything about my lack of effort; something I greatly appreciate.

I think Zart fears I will have a seizure again. Of course I disagree. The more I think about colour, and the more I see it, the less I see the smoke man. He is still here among us, but something is changing.

"I debated putting violets instead, since they started growing next to the turnips, but I couldn't bear to pick them."

It's the violets, but it isn't because of her or I. We are both coincidences, and so is everything else in this Glade. The violets are part of the colour returning, just like the turquoise in Zart's fingers, and the colour in his cheeks.

For a second, it doesn't look like turquoise. For a second, it flashes the colour of pink flesh.

"When does the next shipment come?" I ask, my eyes skidding across to the plants on the ground.

"There should be more seeds coming-"

"No," I correct him, or maybe myself. "When is the next Greenie?"

When he doesn't answer I look up at him.

"Two weeks and two days."

Out his mouth sings a turquoise song, one that stains himself, and myself, and everything else in the Gardens. The colour spreads, fertilizing the soil deep down in the earth, and my soul. It winds its way up inside me, grasping on to me until I forget grey, and I forget lilac and yellow, and every colour there has ever been except for a turquoise flash of light. A turquoise flash with a dark black finish.

Black, contrary to popular opinion, is not grey. Grey has a way of simply sliding around on people's skin. Not staining, not even sinking, simply just slipping on and off like a coat. It is almost a dust in the way in covers everybody. I have severe allergies.

Still, grey is not comparable to black. The black is even scarier than the charcoal gas that wears against one of the Runner's skin. Black is a colour that sucks everything away. The charcoal gas fills you and swallows you whole, until there is nothing left of you. This black is a nightmare. It is as dark as absence. Less of anything than the elevator that carried us to this place. Somehow the black manages to strangle out every trace of turquoise in the flash. Every single person in the Glade blends into one, as do all of my thoughts and all the words I have ever heard. There is no up, there is no wrong, there is only surviving in the endless pit of black.

Then it is over, and I can feel a boy leaning over top of me. "Curly, are you alright?"

We are back to a grey world. The half a second of black managed to eat everything alive. I don't know where I am. Nor who I am nor who the boy is in front of me. Everything is grey, and I can't figure out why. It shouldn't be this grey after all.

What is going on? I can't even see the textures that differentiate the background from the boy's face. He blends into the background, an oil pastel smudge into one cohesive colour. That colour is duller than the ache that ravages my skull. There are riots of pain erupting in my brain; little burst of agony until there is nothing but numb.

What was there before the black? Has there ever been a colour? Has there ever been me?

When the pain goes away, it does not sink and soak. There is torture and then there is nothing. I am staring at a monochromatic world, one I can only describe as nothing. It is blank, but it is not empty. There is nothing I can see nor hear. Something was stolen from me. Something is being stolen, and it is being taken far away once again.

There was a thought. There was an inkling of an idea and now it is gone. Because I can feel nothing, and I can see nothing, and I only feel awful.

The worst part is, I remember. Nothing about how I got here, but why I came.

We were running. There was me and a brunette and a blonde and a ginger. And we were running.

It was a white hall, tinged blue by the flickering lights. I was being carried by the ginger, and my head hurt. She was dragging me along, trailing behind the blonde as I looked behind us. There was no alarm, and I kept waiting for the alarm to sound. There were beacons along the top of the corridor. I couldn't figure out why the alarm wouldn't ring.

I don't know what we were running from, but the blonde lead us further down, until she stopped. There was a door in front of us, and quickly the brunette was on her knees. I couldn't see what she was doing, and don't remember the plan, but I remember biting my cheek, worrying we were running out of time.

The door creaked open, and we were in the room.

And the only thing I can remember thinking, as I was carried out of the corridor, is that he was going to be very angry with us.

But I wasn't worried about the smoke man.


	42. I'm real

Leo 41

I don't know what to do, except sit in the hall outside her door.

Though technically it is not her door, at this point the med room essentially has been taken over by Ella and her consistent seizures. Today it was in the Garden. Tomorrow it might be when she is sitting on a windowsill, or when she is eating, or worse.

Alby is supposed to come by and I am supposed to talk to him. It ought to be Clint who explains the situation. Clint has more expertise than I do, and he also is the Keeper of the Med-jacks. It can't be on me to tell Alby exactly why Ella should be permanently moved into intensive care, and to, on top of that, explain why she should abstain from the very first rule of the Glade: Do Your Part.

It should be Clint, but I represent Ella at the Gathering. I mean, technically Zart and I do, and he has slightly more authority, but she is technically my jurisdiction.

Not that any of that has any significance. Ella just has had her third seizure in less than two weeks.

I move to my feet. This can't keep happening. I've got to do something, and I am not powerless. I march myself into the cabinet, staring down the bottles inside. I don't recognise the colour, but I know what I am looking for. Ella needs an antiepileptic drug. She would need broad-spectrum, since we don't have any means to scan her brain. Maybe we have clonazepam, or felbamate, or lamotrigine, or valproic acid, or zonisamide. Of course, we could even use a combination drug. I mean, pretty much all of those things have terrible side-effects from blindness to skin-shedding, but I am running out of options.

"We already checked," I glance behind me, to see Clint staring me down.

Jeff isn't in the room, and I rarely see Clint without Jeff. Sure, Jeff without Clint is a common appearance. Clint occasionally talking to other Keepers in hushed tones, but I've never seen Clint alone.

In two weeks, Clint and I have never had a private conversation.

"There isn't-"

"We haven't got any drugs to stop seizures." He continues over top of me. "I mean, we are lucky we have adrenaline."

"Do you think we could ask for something?" I ask. "The new shipment is in two days."

He shrugs his shoulders, as he turns to head out of the room. "I will try."

Of course he makes no promises. Clint is smart. Those people who put us here care nothing for the small girl with epilepsy, who lies in a bed asleep.

Without her, the whole world is grey. From the dull floors, to the dirty walls, to the paint chipping off of the windowsill. How can she be all the colour in the Glade? I barely even know her.

All that I know of, is her innocence.

Clint is gone, which means I am alone. Alone in a room with a girl who is passed out against a bed. I can't look at her anymore. Not when her skin is losing its beautiful brown colour, for one much more grey. As much as we move forward, we always circle back to this. Circle back to Dawn running to the arms of a boy who will get her killed. To Ella, seizing on the ground, the soil on her skin the only colour to her. I don't want to speak too soon, but Michelle has managed to keep out of my hair.

I stumble out the door. In the end, we become what we used to be. Constantly divided, we girls break into pieces as disaster fills our skin. Only reuniting to shatter against the cold floor of the Glade. I never expected it to be ease, but I wanted it to be something.

It's not a story of dreams and hopes. I dream for us all to be together. I dream for Ella to sleep without being forced to by an illness that rots in her skull. I dream of Michelle laughing, in a way that is playful and not mean.

I dream of beautiful Dawn, safe and smiling at me.

My feet slip down the stairs, unable to stand sturdy on a single step. My legs are liquid, the same as my brain. Maybe I'm slipping on the juice that spills out my ears and on to the floor beneath my feet.

What was I supposed to be doing? I can't think straight.

I open the door, and see Newt staring at me. Eyes of confusion become eyes of worry, become eyes that are brown and nothing else. He steps towards me, closing the door behind him.

I don't need to tell him it is Ella again. He takes hold of me, bracing his arms around my bones. Though we are the same height, he is stronger than I could ever be. How can someone who looks so frail, and who limps so badly, carry me up the stairs?

It's when his hands are stiff that I realise I am shaking. Oh God I am shaking. The world is crumbling around me, and all I can ever do is shake.

I can't breathe.

"Leo, you need to relax," his voice is quiet, as he helps me around the corner. Knocking the door open with his elbow, he sits me on the covers that a strewn about messy on the bed. My feet give way, and I slip. Grunting, he holds me before slipping me on to the bed.

I hold myself up straight, because that's how lungs work. Inside my chest is a diaphragm, and it is what makes me breathe. It controls the air pressure in my chest, and if I can just get my diaphragm to move I will breathe again.

"Leo," he kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his. I can't stop shaking.

Breath bursts from my lungs in a short pocket of air, and before I can intake half of what I need, my lungs are cut off again. It's like a hiccup, only afterwards my body forgets how to live.

"Leo," Newt continues, gripping onto me tighter, "Leo, she will be fine."

I want to shout at him. So that he can hear me, because all I can do is shake and look at my hands folded in my lap. Brows furrowed, hands shaking from both the panic and the rage at my body for not being able to do what a body can. How can my brain take for granted what health it has been given, while Ella is an epileptic?

I want to shout in Newt's face that it isn't okay. Michelle is moody, out of trouble but brewing for something bad. She is a pot left to simmer too long, and it is my job to cool her off. Sooner or later, Ella's seizures are going to kill her. Dawn is with a boy, even though it is dangerous, even though she could be with someone less, someone less boy. And I am worth nothing. People think I'm shucking it up with Gally, but no one cares to say anything because I do not matter.

I can't protect the people I am supposed to, and I can't even look right for people to see me. No one will ever look at me the way Minho and Dawn steal glances. I wish they didn't steal glances. I don't know who I wish to be, but certainly not me.

Newt is on the bed and he pulls me down to lie next to him.

I hiccup a breath again, and I can imagine the colour my face is turning. Imagine the colour my dry and peeling skin is dyeing. Newt tries to hold the shaking inside me. With his hands, he pins me down against the bed. Not in an invasive way, but in the way that makes me remember that I am actually on planet Earth, and that there are actual things that matter, believe it or not.

Like funny speech, and blonde hair, and laughter. So much laughter. There are moments between all the disasters, where I am sitting with Ella in the grass, and I can't help but smile. Where Jeff and Clint duel with scalpels as they roar with laughter down the halls. How Dawn tries to scale a wall, and I shout at her with a joke on the tip of my tongue.

Of course the good doesn't fix all the bad, nor does it outweigh it, but they coexist.

That, is what stops the shaking.

I'm still sticking to the bed in a pool of sweat. When I stop moving, I feel Newt's hands tense. Unsure when it is safe for him to move them off of me. Newt doesn't like physical contact, it seems. I don't know that I do either. Except maybe I do know, because when Jeff taps me on the shoulder I can't help but feel like I am truly a Med-jack. When Dawn is tired and she leans on me, I feel as if I am tangible and real. Not just a thing that exists as an object in others' lives. As if I matter.

"I'm fine," I manage to exhale it, but my voice comes out more as a whisper.

Newt quickly retracts his arms, sitting up straight. I can't look at him. My eyes are trained on the doorknob. It is dulled from use, but exists in my vision and I can't blink or turn away. My tongue is beginning to get the hang of things, but my eyes can't even seem to blink properly without tearing up.

It seems Newt is the opposite, because while he manages to move around, quickly sliding off the end of the mattress, he can't seem to speak. He shuffles.

The light in the room comes from the window in the corner. It is dim, but casts a soft white glow on the room. The light may be harsh, but it is real. Newt straightens out his shirt, before running his hands through his short hair. Hand wiping over his eyes, but resting on his chin in a way which he thinks.

I can't move to ask what is wrong, but I care so much. The sheets of this bed smell like soap, and feel soft against my face. I can hear the sound of Newt's shirt rubbing against himself as he stands, facing the wall and thinking.

Outside of this room, is disaster. Disaster is a dying girl, a girl who could be killed for doing anything, and a girl who could kill for anything. Outside is not inside. Inside is Newt, who can think all he wants, but he can't steal this second of calm from me.

"I'll tell Alby what happened," he says it clearly, only letting his eyes dart over to me for a second. "About Ella."

I can't nod my head, because I can't move. So I wait for him to say anything else.

"I'll tell Clint about you," Newt begins. "You aren't working tomorrow. Not because you can't handle it, but because I can't..."

He trails up, and I manage to crack open my mouth. My lips taste like the tears that dripped silently from my eyes, and the hair that is strewn about my head.

"What's wrong?"

He shakes his head. "It's complicated, Lee."

I accept that for what it is. Everything is complicated. Maybe one day he will tell me. Or maybe I will stop over-extending myself another day.

"Just, stay here," he continues, actually letting his eyes stay on me. There are tears in them. "Just for tonight? It's my room, but I'll just find somewhere else."

I shake my head slowly. "I'm not taking your bed."

My voice sounds like a frog, but Newt doesn't care.

"Alby won't notice," as if that is all he cares about. As if I am only worried about being banished.

"You aren't sleeping on the ground." I tell him firmly.

He pauses, looking at the bed, and looking at me. "Isn't that where you've been sleeping?"

I don't answer, rolling onto my back. Yes, that is where I've been sleeping. Where I have nightmares that aren't nightmares. The sort of dreams where people die, but I know it's a dream. Every time I lie still, knowing that it may be pretend but when I wake up it'll be real. Ella, Dawn, Michelle; they will be dead. Or I'm just late for a gathering, and suddenly I am in trouble, and I am kicked out of their meetings. Or I accidentally give someone adrenaline again.

I haven't been sleeping, so much as closing my eyes and waiting. Especially these last few nights.

"I'll find something Leo," he grabs the door handle, opening it and looking back at me. "Get well soon."

It's not a command. When I look in his eyes I know for the first time since I came to be, someone isn't ordering me around. Newt is begging.


	43. I'm starlit

Dawn 42

It is so late it is early when Minho comes through the door of the Maproom, moving on his feet slowly. I can't help but cock my head to the side. When he said tonight, I assumed he meant tonight. Not tomorrow morning.

"Sorry," he begins, moving closer to me in a harsh whisper. "It was hard to shake Newt off my trail."

I pull him towards me, hugging him tightly. Only slightly taller than I am, I stand on my tiptoes to pull myself up and fully over his shoulder. He is warm, and I miss the heat between us. If I was one for counting, I would know when we were last together. It was before the Runner died, certainly.

"Are you alright?" I begin, my lips trying to stifle the sound. "You haven't seen me since-"

"Stephen," Minho finishes for me. "Sorry, it was just..."

I don't make him finish, choosing to pull him tighter into me. Of course it was just... whatever it was. Stephen died. Having someone working for Minho not come back in one piece must've been hard enough without making him explain it.

"I just... I couldn't... I blamed myself." He starts the sentence over and over until he figures out what he means to tell me. "So I needed time."

"Min, its fine." I pull back so I can look at his face fully. "I get it."

He nods carefully.

A metal crash rings through my ears, and I move towards the door. Minho is there before I am, hiding me behind him as he peeks out.

"What's happening?" My voice is a harsh whisper.

Minho stands with his eyes facing towards the sound carefully. It's easy to forget that he is a person. We don't really talk much, since there isn't much to talk about. Here though, I remember he is a Runner. I remember he is one of the smartest and strongest here, and he is about to protect me from whatever sound is outside. I can see the fear brimming his eyes, and for a second it makes me think there is reason to be scared.

"Min-"

"I don't know Dawn," his voice is smooth. No harsh tones bleed from his cold eyes into his sweet lips. I wonder if he talks to everyone like he talks to me. I wonder if I talk to others the way I talk to him. Perhaps I do, but I couldn't be sure.

He steps outside, the light from the Maproom casting a glow on his body, displaying his shadow in front of him.

"Stay put."

I don't listen to him, stepping out and peering around. It's much darker outside than in, and my eyes haven't adjusted in this dim lighting.

Above us are stars. Twinkling and shining lights. I can see only Minho, in the yellow glow from the lantern lit and burning inside the room behind us, and the stars above. Otherwise, the Glade is as dark as the world was when I first woke up. I almost hate that millions of stars can see us this night, but he and I will never be together under the sun.

I can't help the smile that forms on my face when Minho turns around, not because I am happy I can't see him during the day, but because I am happy I can see him. His chocolate eyes look at me, and I realise this is the first time I have seen him in the starlight. The first we have been together without hiding, or without other people surrounding us.

The sun is a star too, so in a way, we've been seen by more suns than anyone could imagine.

I can't help but reach forward for him, as he turns around.

"It was the box," he answers, looking over at it.

The heavy metal lid doesn't normally move about on its own.

"Swung shut in the wind?" I ask, turning towards the box.

He grabs me by the wrist, gently, and brings me back to the Maproom. "We don't leave it open. Bet some wasted Glader tripped on it after breaking into Gally's supply last night. Newt will deal with it in the morning."

I quickly move into the Maproom, shutting the door behind me. Minho gives me an odd look, but ultimately a smirk plays his lips.

"Just dying to be alone with me?" He asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "I know it's been a few days since you've seen me Dawn, but-"

"Please," I roll my eyes playfully. "If I was really that needy, do you think I'd wait this long?"

I play it off like I'm not thinking about Newt, and about the secret. As if Minho didn't remind me what I needed to tell him. Newt knows. He knows everything about us, and he could make our universe crumble.

"You're right," he continues. "Every boy in the Glade has been trying to shack it up with you since you first got here. You don't need me for a minute."

I crinkle my nose at that sentence. My mind is trapped between a clever retort, an eye roll, and a question. I can't tell if he thinks I don't want to be with him. Why would he? I've been trying to talk to him for a few days.

"Minho," I begin, and he stiffens, stepping closer to me.

He doesn't say anything. Words couldn't take the firmness out of my feet. Instead, he takes my hands. His grip is firm, but he caresses my hand, searching through every inch. Trying to know my skin in a way I don't. In a way I want to know his.

I can't tell him. For the second I do, he will leave me. For some reason, that bothers me. Do I like him? I mean, we have fun, but more than like him? Not just flirting-and-kissing like him? Something-more like him?

"Newt knows," I begin.

I watch his brow furrow, as he takes a step back from me, ripping his hand from mine. "About us?"

"About something," I correct. "He knows that one of us girls and one of you-"

"How long have you known?" He demands, his eyes going sour.

"A couple days-"

"A couple days?" He raises his voice to a harsh sound. I don't care to worry if he will wake up the Glade. Let them wake up. Let them hear him speak. "You didn't tell me."

"We're not going to get caught," I begin.

"You don't shucking know that." He steps closer to me, his eyes twitching. "I don't know that. Shuck, we almost did. Dawn what were you-"

"What was I thinking?" I ask back. "I was thinking that it didn't matter. Newt isn't going to rat out his best friend. He was with Leo when he heard us, and he wouldn't look. Leo already knows, and she isn't going to betray us. She also isn't going to let Newt. You really think Newt-"

"It doesn't matter what I think," he steps away from me, moving further into the Map-room. "You didn't tell me, Dawn. You didn't tell me something serious. One of us could be killed and you don't have the decency-"

"I didn't think it mattered-"

"To tell me someone knows about us, and of course it matters. You could shucking die."

"What is there to know?" I ask. "What are we Minho? Are we friends?"

He looks at me funny, not quick to quip back. He takes his hands, pulling at the straps on his shoulders, until the Runner gear is gone. Until it is just me, and the boy in the blue shirt. Not just the one in the Maze, but the one who climbed a wall to be with me. The one who threw apple slices at me across the dinner table, and who lies next to me on the ground in the middle of the night.

The beautiful boy, whose brown eyes I could drown in. Whose eyes crinkle when they meet mine. Who seems to shake when he stares at me. He doesn't love me.

"Dawn, you don't get this place yet." His words are smoother and reassuring, and I back away from him.

"Don't patronize me." Just because I have only known two weeks, doesn't mean I know nothing. He is more than a fool if he thinks I am just going to come quietly. I am not some flower that needs to be protected. I get it, okay? In a way that is different from Minho, but not any less accurate.

"I'm not patronizing you, you are patronizing me." He argues back. "You don't realize the risk you are putting yourself under-"

"Minho, I get the risk." I stop him.

"No Dawn, you-"

"No Minho." There is something laced in my tone that makes his head snap over towards mine. In a way that makes me realise he hadn't been listening to me before. Now, he must hear my words.

"I don't go out in that Maze like you, but I have seen the Grievers." I tell him. "I know what they do. I almost saw Michelle get banished. Believe me when I say, I know the risk. Am I worried that Newt is going to tell Alby? Not really, but let's say he did. It's worth it to be with you. It's all about you. You don't realise I will be banished before you. The girl everyone wants to get their mitts on, the one who everyone thinks is a bloody flirt; she will be the one who seduced you. Which means she will be the dead girl. Not you, the revered Keeper of the Runners. Me, the girl who is more joke than person. But I would tempt fate just to try and be with you."

He reaches forward, arms trying to taste my skin. "That's what I'm worried about Dawn. I'm worried about you."

"Stop speaking," I knock his wrist away from my body, stepping back. I didn't realise how hot my face felt. Nor did I remember how salty tears were, until I taste them now. "You don't want to be with me."

He shakes his head. "That's not what is happening. You've been lying to me and putting yourself in danger."

"What are we Minho?" I ask him, cocking my head to the side. "Are we people who flirty with each other, or are we something else?"

I'm trying to ask myself too, because I don't know. Over the last two weeks I've finally been able to figure myself out. I'm funny, I'm independent, I'm determined, I'm sarcastic, I'm a tease, and I'm with him. Although, I can't figure out what that means. Do I love him? Does he even care about me?

"Dawn," he begins, but I don't turn to face him. I can hear the crack in his voice. It weighs on my shoulders, pushing me deeper into the Earth until I lose sight of the stars.

I let the door shut behind me.


	44. I'm lying

Michelle 43

Remind me, what is small talk?

I was supposed to be getting to know this girl, but I can't manage to speak. What is normal? This place has kind of stolen the idea of the calm before the storm. It is just the storm, as far as I can tell.

Instead, I stand here screwing a nail into the door frame, glancing at her out the window.

"Hold it steadier," I grunt to David.

I can hear his breath hitching on itself as he tries to hold the door in place. It's difficult work, but not too awful.

"You have the easy job," he says it with a smile, and I can only hear the disdain in his voice. "You pretty much have no work to do, just screwing stuff in."

I shrug, paying him no mind.

"Wouldn't mind screwing around with her if I were you," a boy cackles from inside the room, where he nails in the border to the window frame.

I find my feet moving in closer to him, and before I know what is happening, my fist collides with his face. His face feels cold against my burning hand, and his bones crunch as the back of his head smashes into the white wall behind him.

"Shuck, what are you doing?" He demands.

My fist burns, but not the kind of ache that indicates pain. My fingers crave sustenance that comes in the form of violence. The boy was nothing but an excuse.

David pulls me back from him, leaning into the back of my body. "The favour I owed you Doug. It's even now, alright?"

"I didn't owe her no favour," he pauses, before wiping the blood from his nose. He spits, spraying the clean wall with the colour of his pain.

"Well, you owed, and now we're even," David takes a hold of my arm dragging me off.

I rip myself from his grip, yet I follow him outside anyway. "Don't drag me off from places."

"Stop moving," he instructs, essentially pulling me into the room next to us and shutting the door.

He takes my hand in his, looking at my knuckles, but I rip the hand out of his grip. "I'm fine."

"I don't care about your hand," he takes it back, holding it firmer this time. "I'm checking to see if there are bruises. In case he decides to tell Alby, you'd better hope there is no evidence. How could you be so careless?"

"He started it," I want to shout, but my lips have only learned how to mutter. Why does David think everything is about himself? That guy made a dirty joke, one about me, so of course I'm going to hit him. Does David expect me to take it silently?

"Doesn't mean you had to finish anything Mich," he interjects. "Why can't you ever be the bigger person?"

"Did you just call me Mich?"

Satisfied that I have no bruises, he let's go of my hand from his fingers. Reaching into his pocket, he takes out a handkerchief, attempting to rub off the blood that has already dried in the heat.

"So what if I did?" He doesn't look up at me, concentrating on the blood splatter on my already red knuckles.

"My name is Michelle," I tell him.

"Yeah, and Michelle is a mouthful. You know, most people around here go by names. You think Fry's actual name is Frypan? Most people call me Dave anyway."

"Dave?" I ask, glancing him over.

He nods, taking it seriously. Letting go of my fingers, he grabs his pouch off his belt, dumps water onto the handkerchief, and continues scrubbing away at my fingertips.

"I like Dave," he begins. "Feels more me than David."

"David is your name," I continue.

"Yeah, but I don't know him." He reaches the cold material between my fingertips to wipe the blood off of them. This blood is nothing. My shirt has been severely stained with the red colour from when I was attacked by those Baggers. No matter how much he scrubs, the blood will always be on my hands.

"Of course you do."

"I don't," he tells me. "David was the dumb shank those Creators sent up at the very beginning. He was the one who woke up the first night screaming murder, and was the one thought he'd been alone forever. We aren't the same person, he and I. I'm Dave."

"And I'm Michelle," I tell him.

"You shouldn't be." He actually looks at me this time, and I can feel his words deep into my heart. "Who is Michelle?"

"What kind of question is that?"

He presses on, blue eyes staring me down. So deep I feel like I'm drowning, and I hate that I get lost for them in a second. In that moment, the one that I choose to ignore, I don't feel like Michelle anymore.

"Michelle, what are you so afraid of?" He asks me.

He isn't cleaning my hands anymore, which I only realise as I see his eyes crease when I pull my fingers from his grip. I'm not afraid of anything. Quite the contrary, things just seem to be afraid of me. Like those Gladers who surround me, and the girls, and Gally. As long as I can remember, I have feared nothing. I have stared death in the face: unblinking and waiting.

So why do I feel like I'm lying when I stare at him?

"You know you are safe here, right?" He asks.

"That is the biggest lie anyone has ever told me," I begin to say, feeling my teeth rattle at the force of my own voice, "and I have heard a lot of lies."

I wait for him to correct me, but he leaves me space to breathe. I don't understand why, nor do I understand how. This is the part of the story where he argues with me, and denies my claims. Where he reassures me that I am being ridiculous, though I am not, and then where he promises to protect me from every and any danger that dares step in my way. He must realise that I am waiting for his response, but he still leaves me space to breathe.

I don't need space. My body is incredibly tiny, and I only know how to fill the small amount of space left for me. Quick quips and jabs, and the like.

"Michelle, I am not lying to you," his tongue burns in his mouth with hidden words, and I wonder what he has to say. Why can't he just tell me a straight answer?

"I have never been safe here." I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't. "I was locked in the Slammer when I got here, and then locked in the Slammer again, and then sentenced to death, and then locked in the Slammer again. I have nearly died, been blamed for things I didn't do, and been forced to spend everyday with a bunch of guys who can do nothing but oogle me. Correct me if I am wrong, but I have been alone this entire-"

"You have not." He stops me there, and I am surprised. "You have not been alone."

"No one has been there."

"You are wrong," he continues. "The Med-jack girl, Leo? She has fought for you tooth and nail at every corner. Bothering Alby, pestering Newt, and being just a pain to me since you got locked up. You know how many shucking Keepers she bothered trying to get them to change their votes? How many times she begged Alby just to let you out?

"Nevermind that Gally has stuck his head out for you. Made a fool of himself in front of the other Keepers, gave Alby a good report on your behalf, and kept his mouth shut about all the times you've had attitude? Do you not realise what people have done to help you?

"What I've done? I nearly got crushed the first time we talked, just to save you from that stupid building? I've given up favours, I've lied to the Gathering's faces, and I've gotten into fights to protect your reputation. Did you ever think about the lengths I went to, to help you?"

"I never asked you to." I mean it, and I only feel slightly bad when I watch him flinch. "I never asked for any help. I didn't want you to help me."

"That's not the point. I gave it, and so did they, because they care about you. You know what you are?" His voice raises, and I realise I've never seen David angry. This isn't anger, though. His voice is louder, but it is scratchier, and his eyes are glossy. His squints his nose as he tries to calm down.

"What am I?" I demand back. My voice, is one of angry.

"You're in denial. You can't accept that you have friends." He says it as if it is so factually, I ignore the way his eye twitches, and his shoulders heave.

"That isn't true."

"Yes it is." He exhales, and I watch the red tinge leave his cheeks. "You can't deal with the fact that not everybody is out to get you. I've seen it before; you are afraid of vulnerability. If you trust people, they can betray you. I can't speak for Gally, but Leo won't. I wouldn't either."

"I'm not afraid of trusting people," I counter. "Did it ever occur to you that you aren't trustworthy?"

"I am plenty trustworthy." He argues with me. I didn't realise we were next to each other until I can feel his breath in my face. "You just refuse to like people."

"Prove it." I dare him.

His lips are salty, but soft against mine. This is not what I had in mind.

He pulls back, his eyes staring at me delicately, waiting for me to hit him or scream in his face, or whatever he expects is coming next.

I step away from him, my mouth at a loss for words, as I walk out the door.


	45. I'm dreaming

Ella 44

I don't like waking up after being asleep for a long time.

My whole body is stiff, but I peel myself out of bed anyway. I look out the window, and I can see Leo, with Jeff unloading the box of supplies. It must be day 14. We have two weeks left until the new shipment comes.

I don't know why that terrifies me as much as it does.

We were in a hallway.

It is quiet out here. It is lunch, so I expect the Glade to be loud, and full of laughter. Perhaps it is the distance that separates me from the rest of the Glade, but it feels oddly silent. Zart eats in the Garden, as he usually does. Alone. I almost feel bad for leaving him.

I could hear the rubber soles of their shoes shuffling off the ground.

"I thought you were out for good."

The boy in the doorway walks in slowly. Clint is the Keeper of the Med-jacks, and I am surprised by the casual way he sits down on my bed.

"We didn't know what we were going to do, since the seizure happened again. I hadn't thought much about what to do on the off chance you woke up."

I turn away, staring back out the window. Dawn sits on the grass, alone as well. Which surprises me, as there is an empty spot at the table where she normally sits. That girl is never alone. I missed what happened to her while I was out, but I wish I knew.

"I guess we can only quarantine you, and hope that you don't keep having seizures." He continues, "but we will only do that if they don't have anything to prevent your seizures in today's shipment.

"It isn't an illness." I tell him.

He seems to accept is as fact, and doesn't ask more questions.

I wish I could see Michelle. Normally she continues work through lunch and breaks separately later on. She isn't anywhere where she normally is. Which I find to be extremely peculiar.

I never noticed I paid so much attention to them all.

"It's not going to satisfy Jeff or Leo," the bed creaks as Clint lifts himself on it. "They are going to want to know exactly what is wrong with you before they let you back out into the Gardens."

I shrug. He won't understand me if I explain to him expressly what went wrong in my head. Something in that room.

He was going to be angry.

"14 days." When I think of him, it reminds me of the shipment coming. Of more people trapped here beyond the truth. The truth is important of course, but it is nothing compared to the reality of it all. Dream land may be where the answers are, but reality is where I need to be.

Clint only hears my remark, but makes no notice of it.

"Did you ever go in the Maze when no one was looking?"

I shake my head. "You can only undergo the Changing if there was something to change in the first place."

When I look back at him, I realise he has his arms crossed over his chest. His brow is furrowed, but he seems to accept what I say for how it is.

"You're going to be quarantined." He continues on, not waiting for my input. "Tomorrow you are going to rest, and then I am going to examine you the next day. You aren't going to be able to talk to anyone, including Leo and Jeff, until I have finished my examination. Are we clear?"

He isn't going to find anything, which I definitely accept. "What do you think is wrong with me?"

He straightens up, assessing my reaction before he says anything. I may be small, but I am certainly not fragile. Clint is smart though, and he recognises this.

"You are not to tell Leo," he begins, "but I think you have a brain tumour."

I nod, and he cocks his head at me.

"Do you agree?" Clint steps closer to me, until he is close enough to kneel next to me on the ground. "Or do you have some sort of other assessment?"

I shrug, "I was under the assumption that something had gone wrong before I came here. I'm definitely an abnormality-"

"Being here is abnormal-"

"But a brain tumour would make just as much sense." I have to agree with him, and it makes me wonder if anything is really. The memories, the grey world, the Smoke man; they could all be conjured up by a lump in my brain.

Not the violet girl though. Never could I ever create something quite as magnificent as her.


	46. I'm open

Leo 45

"You're not letting me see her?" I am surprised at the tone in my voice. It is a very Michelle feeling, to want to shout at someone else.

"I think she has a severe allergic reaction to some sort of natural element." Clint tells me, steering me away from the Med room. "You and Jeff have been outside in the grass, and I don't want to set it off again."

There is no way she is allergic to something. "Clint, this is ludacris."

"Well, tough," he rolls his eyes, moving me away from the door. "I'm sure you can find something else to do in the hour we have before dinner. Help the Builders unload maybe?"

"We did that," Jeff tells Clint, brushing past him. "They knocked down the ceiling again, so Gally was already being a bit of a Shank. You should've seen the look on Dave's face. He was ripe red when that happened."

"No one was hurt?" Clint asks.

I shake my head. I would've checked up on Michelle if she had been there, but I couldn't manage to find her. It's been pretty lonely these past two days. Both Michelle and Dawn have been oddly absent. No matter where I go, Dawn is always there, and even if it is normal for Michelle to be gone, I assume I would've heard of some terrible thing she has done by now.

Especially since I treated a Builder for a bloody nose yesterday, which he insisted came from smashing his own face against the window frame. Not to say that I am suspicious, but I am suspicious.

"No," I tell him. "I checked them all. They had finished the inside earlier that day. Only people on the roof were affected."

"How didn't you realise the roof was knocked in?" Jeff asks, grabbing Clint by the shoulders. "It was as loud as you could imagine a roof full of Slintheads collapsing would be."

"I'm so used to tuning you out I actively just stop listening to everything around me." Clint teases back.

I roll my eyes, turning away before anything else can happen. Knowing these boys, I don't want to be around for their worst.

When I leave the Homestead, I don't know what to do. I haven't talked to Alby in a while, and I don't know how to begin a conversation with him. The only person I could see myself talking to is Newt, and I've been avoiding him since he gave me his bed to sleep in. I felt so terrible about that, that I don't really know how to look him in the face.

The sun is moving deeper into the sky, and I hear laughter. Looking to the doors, I notice boys beginning to trickle in. The first of whom is Minho.

I wonder what he did to Dawn.

It's odd that I immediately assume Minho did her wrong, but I can't imagine her being the one to cause her such despair. Especially when Minho seems okay. I knew he would only hurt her. That must have been why I felt so weird about her being with Minho. It couldn't have possibly been anything else at all.

He moves away, towards the Map-room, and I move towards him. I notice he is writing something down on a piece of paper, glancing up at where he is going.

Glancing up, he notices me. I watch his nose turn pink as he forms a grimace on his face, nodding his head before he turns. He cast his eyes back at me, before gesturing for me to follow him with a twitch of his head. I do, follow him that is, jogging on my feet slightly as I try to catch up with him. He enters the farm, leaving the door slightly ajar for me to enter in after him.

"Is Dawn alright?" He asks me before I have a chance to completely shut the door behind me.

"She's been gone." I tell him. "Haven't seen her at night, or at any meals."

"Fry said she was quiet in the kitchen yesterday. I showed up in the morning to find her, but she was gone."

I cross my arms over my chest. I knew this would happen. I just knew it. Minho and I may barely know each other, but he isn't that difficult to figure out. Just another cocky boy who thinks Dawn is beautiful. Of course everything about her is wonderful, but I don't know what she sees in him.

Some part of me hates him, even though I know he is nothing but kind and funny. We barely knew each other, and he brought me into his room when I forgot how to breathe. He was there for me while I cried, and I know he is nothing but the best for her.

Maybe that's why I hate him. Perhaps I wish I was as wonderful as he is.

"Minho, what did you do?"

He leans against the wooden table, rolling up the blue sleeves of his shirt. I hate that the colour matches her clothes.

"She didn't tell me that Newt knew about us."

"He doesn't know about you." I correct quickly, without thinking. "He knows about two Gladers breaking the rule. One of which I'm sure he assumes is Dawn, but that doesn't mean he knows for sure. He certainly doesn't know its you."

"She still didn't tell me." He continues, "which is a big deal."

"I told her not to." Klunk. I shouldn't lie. I don't lie very much, or at least I didn't think I did. From the way Minho looks at me though, I can tell he believes me.

"You told her not to?" He continues on. "Why?"

"Newt was really shaken about it." I tell Minho. "I told her he wouldn't say anything, and that it wasn't a big deal, and not to tip you off. No offense Minho, but you are kind of an open book. Really easy to read, actually. Newt would've caught on after a shift in your behaviour."

"She kept talking about how we are just friends." He ignores me, though I know he heard my words. "Claimed I didn't care about her, or some other klunk."

"Well, do you?"

He doesn't answer me. It's too dark in this room to tell what he really believes. If he doesn't love her, he is an idiot. Anyone could love her easily. He runs a hand through his hair before he looks at me.

"It doesn't matter that I love her if she's dead," Minho answers but also doesn't answer. "If we get caught, I'll die, which would suck, but I know what I'm getting into. She doesn't though. You know her, you can't tell her no. She thinks she's indestructible. If she dies, it would be my fault. It's crazy, for her to die for me. She doesn't get what that means."

I don't either. I could not imagine having so much love in me I would sacrifice my life for someone else. Out of all the things I am, a coward is the largest. Minho doesn't seem fearful though.

"Maybe she doesn't," I lean out the door, "or maybe she does. Are you two done?"

"Oh shuck I hope not." He buries himself in his hands, as he sinks down to the ground. I move around the counter, next to him. My arms find themselves at his sides, before I can hold onto him tightly. I barely know him, but I feel compelled to do this.

I don't know what to say, since as far as I know, I've never lost anyone. At least, not like Minho has.

"She's amazing," he speaks slowly, and like every word shocks him. "She is so funny, and clever, and feisty, and independent. When I met her, I didn't think girls like that could exist. You know, perfect ones. Ones that make your heart stop beating. One's that made you feel things in your chest. I imagine she feels like the ocean. Vast and strong and freeing. She is every word that I've ever known Leo, and I think I've shucked this up."

I think this is her fault, but I just hold Minho. He was lied to by a beautiful girl.

"She thought I didn't love her, and I think it's crazy that I do." He must forget he is talking to me, because he speaks with such candor. Never could I speak to a stranger like that. Only, in some ways we aren't strangers. We speak the same language, and share the same feelings. "But how could I tell her how I feel when she is crying like that?"

I don't know how you tell someone you love them. Personally, I imagine it is the most vulnerable thing you can do. If I were to love someone, I don't know that I could ever say it.

"She isn't crying now," I tell him.

The door creaks open, but neither Minho nor I move from the ground. If they think we are together, then so be it. The danger at the door doesn't matter.

Maybe I'm not a coward. As far as I can tell, I would give up so much for the people I care about. The girls, the Med-jacks, Newt and now Minho, apparently.

"They need you in the Map room." Only Newt's voice sounds as strange as foreign, which solidifies my stance. He would know we aren't together. "Are... Min, are you alright?"

Minho sits up, and my arms drift off of him. "It's these girls, shank."

"Dawn?" Newt asks, and Minho nods.

Newt only stands still, before he sighs. "Dawn."

Minho stands up, and I follow him higher into the air. I am surprised he hugs me, until he whispers in my ear.

"Newt's been worried sick about you."

When Minho pulls back, he winks at me. The boy who I see everyday, may not be as kind as the one who held me while I cried, nor as sweet as the one who sat on the floor with me, but he is fun. I imagine if I ever calmed down, Minho and I would be good friends.

"I'll explain it tonight," he tells Newt. "Right now I've got to make things right."

He leaves the room without another word, which only makes me feel queasy.

"What happened?" Newt asks me.

I sigh. How do I begin to explain how we even got here, let alone what we talked about? Perhaps I'd have to begin when I followed Minho into this room, or when Dawn fought Minho, or when Newt and I caught them, or when I first found the two of them wrapped together.

"Minho and Dawn-"

"I meant to you."

Me? I look at him, feeling my pulse quicken in the back of my throat. Since when was this about me?

"You've been distant since Ella had the seizure. Are you alright?"

"She woke up," I tell him. "She's being quarantined until we can figure out why she keeps collapsing."

He shakes his head, but doesn't smile. "Leo, shank, that doesn't tell me what happened to you. How have you been holding up?"

"Okay," I tell him. "I think Michelle might have gotten into another fight yesterday, and Dawn has been distant, but it's fine now."

"You need to worry about yourself too." He tells me. "It can't just be about everyone else all the time."

That's the only way I know it. The thing is, I don't know if I have much value outside of others. I'm a Med-jack to help people who can't help themselves. It is my responsibility to protect them from themselves. Fine is my middle name. I don't know how to not be fine.

It's not even that I must be fine, and that I am not as important as others, but that I love to provide aid. As long as someone needs me, I will be there for them. I don't have time to worry about myself when I have responsibilities to others.

"Have you ever loved someone?" I'm not sure where it comes from, but I wait for his answer.

"Many times over," he tells me.

"Who?" I ask.

"Minho, Nick (who you wouldn't know), Frypan, I guess there are more but it's hard to think off of the top of my head."

I'm surprised he doesn't list Alby, since the two are thick as thieves. When Newt isn't working in the Gardens or checking in with the Med-jacks, he is practically glued to Alby's hip.

"But have you ever loved someone like Minho loved someone?" I ask.

"What does this have to do with anything?" He asks, peering at me awkwardly.

I shrug, "I just can't figure out how to love others and myself at the same time."

For a second, I think Newt is going to reach for me, but like always, he doesn't get any closer than arm's length away.

"I haven't either."


	47. I'm bleeding

Warning: This scene contains attempted sexual assault and is very significant to the plot. Summary and explanation below.

Dawn 46

It's easier to hide from Minho than I thought. He checks all the places he expects me to be. The Homestead, hidden in one of the medical rooms, or under one of the bunkbeds. In the kitchens, the Deadheads, or around the bonfire are the places I normally hang around.

Currently though, seeing as I knew he would be looking in all of the usual places, I have hidden in the Slammer. They don't lock the door unless it is in use after all, which makes it more than easy to hide in here.

When I first stepped inside, I felt queasy. The Slammer gave me the illusion of a quiet sanctuary, and while I am not one for solitude, it would serve its purpose for the night, until I found a better place to hide tomorrow. As soon as I shut the door, I noticed why this place is a punishment.

Bloody handprints drag down the wall, having stained the concrete. The floor shows a map of all the places someone was brutally beaten, and I don't want to think about it but I know this was Michelle. I might have given her too much klunk for how often she got in trouble and disrespected authority. It seems she got more flack than I could have ever given her.

I can see how they beat her. From the splatters on the floor I can see where she coughed up blood, and the larger dots reveal where she bled from her nose. In large pools, I can tell where she lied bleeding for hours on end. Alone in this square prison she waited. Here I can feel her anger staining the walls. Her despair as she smashed her knuckles against the door, begging to be let out.

It doesn't matter what she did or didn't do. This violence disgusts me. I am not a pacifist either. Although I've never done it, I know if it came down to it, I could beat someone. This seems senseless. The sight doesn't make me gag, but it makes my stomach turn over the idea that I should've been there for her, but I wasn't. The four of us are sort of sisters after all, born on the same day from the same place. It's not just my job to sit on the sidelines and watch them all crumble.

At least the Slammer can provide me security when all it once did was hold pain captive.

It's gotten darker out, which means Minho must be sleeping, but I can't avoid the thought in my head that he is still looking for me out there. I know it isn't true though.

The worst part of this, is that I can't be mad at him. After all, he did nothing wrong. I cannot blame a boy for not falling in love with me. That wouldn't be fair on my part, although I do understand why he is upset with me for keeping it a secret. I was just trying to protect us, but look where that got me.

Alone in the Slammer, apparently.

I hear the door creak open, if just slowly, and I stare forward.

"What are you doing in here?"

It's not him.

"Ben, right?" I ask, watching the boy limp into the room.

He nods, "yeah, that's me."

"You're a Builder, right?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Was a while ago. Before you guys came anyway. Runner now, though, or at least I was."

He looks down at his ankle, and I furrow my brow. "You're the guy who got injured."

"Three more weeks," his limp is obvious as he comes closer to me. "Then I'm back in the Maze."

I nod. When he smiles it feels a little odd. I can't pin it on anything, but Ben is an odd fellow. The first night, I heard he got in a bit of a tiff with Michelle, which I guess isn't that hard. Or at least, I thought so until I came in here.

He's pretty nonchalant about the whole, bloody walls thing going on here. Once Newt mentioned him too, and I remember Ben yelling at Fry and I because he got drywall in his own bloody food.

"What are you doing in here?" I ask him carefully.

He cocks his head to the side, before flashing his teeth at me as he chuckles. "Sorry, this must be weird. I come in here to think because it's usually pretty empty. Not many places you can go to get away."

"Good that," I mutter, though I can't entirely find the enthusiasm in my voice.

"What are you doing in here anyway?" He asks me, moving beside me to stare at the walls where I look. "Trying to figure out what those are from?"

I shake my head, stepping away from him. "I was just curious as to what this place was like inside."

"You've been in here before though," he tells me like I've forgotten, in a way that is way too accusatory. "When you first got here, remember?"

"Michelle has a way of ruining the things she touches," I gesture to the smears of red stretching from floor to ceiling. "I wanted to see what happened to her in here. She doesn't talk much since she was almost banished."

"You sure you weren't hiding from Minho?"

I flinch, turning towards him. The silence that fills the room is eerie and uncomfortable. Ben seems to be feeling just fine though.

"Yeah, I know," he begins, trying to seem all cool with it. "I saw you guys fighting a couple nights ago. Figured you should know that you aren't too subtle, in case someone else catches you next time."

I don't know why he chose to tell me instead of Minho, someone he obviously knows better and is much closer to, but I sit on the question in silence. Ben didn't just happen upon me. This is planned, and I don't like it.

What is he up to?

"We're just friends."

"Do you kiss all your friends Dawn?" He asks.

I don't know how to respond to that, other than to attempt to swallow the dry air in the room. All the hairs are sticking up all over my body.

"Maybe you and I could be friends then, huh?"

I can't breathe. All I can do is stare at him in disbelief. "Sorry?" I don't mean it as an apology. He seems to get that I'm confused by his statement, but not that I am feigning confusion.

He steps closer to me, and I back up until my back is against the wall and he is against me.

"I more so meant," he bites his lip, "since things aren't going to well with Minho we could have some fun."

My voice has been stolen from me, so all I can do is listen to every syllable. I wish I were loud and angry, and could fight him off. Of course this is his plan.

"After all," he presses his hips against mine, and I again, forget what it is like to breathe. "It is just here alone."

He reaches his hand towards me, and I swipe it away. He smiles at that.

"You know, if I had wanted feisty, I'd have gone with the ginger," I can't think while he speaks, "and if I had wanted silent, I'd have gone with that brunette. You're the best of the three, don't you know?"

"I will scream," I threaten, and I'm serious. Ben is freaking me out, but I can feel the burning in my stomach telling me I'm not afraid.

"And then I'll tell them about your little hangouts with Minho, and then where will we be?" He doesn't wait for me to answer. "Ah, yes. He'll be gone, I'll be Keeper of the Runners, and I will still get my turn with you."

"Don't touch me."

He runs his hands through my hair, feeling the strands as he ignores my words. His face approaches mine, and I shove him off.

Stumbling backwards, he only smiles before shoving me back against the wall. I feel the concrete rattle through my spine.

No one knows I am here. My head spins in circles and I can feel bile in the back of my throat. The only way I can get someone's attention is to scream.

If I scream I rat Minho out. When I scream, he is dead.

That is what fears me. I know I am clever enough, astute enough, to talk my way out of any situation. I can bat my eyes and get what I want. Ben, however, has limited me. He has ripped me from my universe and put me somewhere where he wants me to have two options: scream and get Minho banished, or comply.

He slams me back into the wall, and I can feel my brain rocking around inside my skull. His hands rest on my shoulders, pressing into my skin. Callused and dirty and all over me. He leans up towards me and I spit in his face.

He shoves me down against the ground, and my head hits the side of the concrete. I tilt forward, feeling blood drip down from my nose, dripping onto the floor.

Only more blood fills this room.

"Why are you making this so difficult Dawn?"

It is so dark in here, my blood doesn't look red. I can only assume crimson colour because it drips from my nose. The whole world is dark blue.

He starts to lift me up, and he faces me. My head hangs limply from my neck, until he lifts me up completely, presses me against the wall, and forces me to face him.

I thought the third option I could create for myself was fighting back, but it seems as though I cannot do even that.

"You are so lovely you know," he begins. "I'm so glad we've come to this agreement. We're going to have some fun times you and I."

I reach forward and bite his nose until I hear him grunt out in pain. He rips himself back from me, nose bleeding profusely from the outside. My feet feel like they might slip out from beneath me, but I lean forward, shoving him into the door, which closes with a crash.

"Minho's dead, you hear me?" He begins.

I scoff. "Yeah, have fun telling Alby that when he sees the teeth marks on your nose. Explain to him exactly how I had the opportunity to get so close to your face that I could bite it.

Staring at me, he limps backwards out the door, only creating more of a ruckus.

The dizziness takes over my body, and I can only hope that someone is awake to come find me as I hit the ground.

~~~~~~~~~

PLEASE NOTE: The summary might also be upsetting. It is not in explicit detail, but I am going to explain what happens. It is necessary you know what happens, in order to understand the rest of this book. 

Summary: Dawn is hiding from Minho in the Slammer. Ben comes in, and threatens Dawn. If she won't sleep with him, he will get her banished for being with Minho, as he knows they have been sneaking around. Dawn fights him off, but is upset and faints.

Explanation: Much of the rest of Dawn's story comes from being a sexual assault survivor. She learns, and grows. She becomes more empathetic to other struggles, where before now she is more indifferent. It also is important, because it shows the importance of letting others help you, and the absurdity of refusing to let girls and boys date. Secrecy simple causes more problems.


	48. I'm trying

47 Michelle

It's late into the morning when I finally make my way to the building. No David, or Dave, or whoever you want to call him, in sight. Which I'm glad about, because since he, we, did that in the building, we've been avoiding each other. Not just in the way I silently sit with Gally but ignore his presence, but in the kind of way where I haven't seen him in days.

I can't tell if it's because I am running from him, or if he is running from me. It might not make a difference, but I want to prove to him I'm not a coward.

I'm not afraid of relationships, just no one is here is good enough for me.

Especially not David. Who is he to think he is special? He is nothing more than some cocky Builder with an entitlement complex. Almost as if he thinks I owe him this since he's put so much effort into saving me. He thinks he knows everything too.

Realistically, he knows nothing.

I hear a crash in the building, followed by people shouting. Gally's voice rings out above the ground, and I debate whether or not to go in and help.

"Michelle," I spin around to hear the boy with the ridiculous accent calling out to me. Since when do we talk? "Have you seen Dawn?"

Should I have seen Dawn? He sighs at the look I give him, creasing his eyebrows together. "Look, Leo is going nuts. Nobody's seen her since yesterday, and she didn't show up for work today. Do you think Gally could spare you?"

I shake my head back and forth, but when I hear anger ripping through Gally's throat, I feel myself shrug. There is no way in Hell I want to show up three hours late while he is already that angry. Despite the fact I don't want to help the second-in-command or his people, a chance to get closer to him and to Dawn is one I can't pass up.

For the sake of my and Gally's mission, I can't leave this opportunity to waste. Plus, this is a good excuse for missing out on the morning of work.

"He'll live."

Newt nods, although he has one eyebrow raised. If he is confused he doesn't tell me. "Where do you think she might be?"

I barely know her, so I don't know why I'd have any sort of an idea. Instead of waiting for him to tell me where to go and what to do, I turn on my heels.

"Ask somebody else."

I walk further away, passing behind Gally's back from even 50 feet away feels weird and wrong. I'm stuck on this side of the Homestead until I can manage to sneak past his slippery eyes.

Maybe, if I'm lucky, I can actually find a way to get lunch. Avoiding people proves to be troubling, especially when they are everywhere you need to be.

Gally and David both seem to be everywhere I don't want to be.

There is not much in this corner of the Glade, except for the Walls, the Homestead and the Slammer.

I choose not to look at the building. From the outside you cannot tell what lurks inside. Pain, anguish and beatings all fester in there. The remnants of my own torture stain the walls. The proof of my loneliness in this world.

I'm not afraid of people, nor am I afraid of being alone. How ridiculous a thing for David to say. I'm not a coward. I fear nothing, especially that room.

The door creaks when I enter it.

Dawn looks up at me. Her eye is swollen shut, red and purple in an array of colours. Her hair sticks to the ground as she lifts her head up to look at me, dried blood cracking along her blonde hair.

For a second I think it is a nightmare and then she winces. She pulls herself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall behind her as she stares at me. One blue eye, and one eye black and blue. She blows hair out of her face, only for it to slowly fall down. Like a feather off of a wall. A blue bird somewhere has lost her song and I can feel it in my chest.

"How did you beat people up?"

At this I step inside and shut the door behind me. She stares at the walls. Her eyes glance at me spread apart, ready for her consumption. I don't need to look around to know that the concrete surrounding us in painted in my blood.

The floor seems to have turned redder since I last was here.

"With my fists," I know she didn't mean the physicality of it. I am a small girl, but my arms are beefy, and I can tell I look intimidating.

She was asking the mentality of taking someone and crushing them in my hands. Holding life between my tiny fingers, before taking it upon myself to erase everything that once was. Destruction creates a whole new world. Takes a world that was given to me, and builds upon in ways that I may never learn how no matter how long I am here.

The irony of being a harbinger of death does not escape me, when my job is to build shelter and security.

Dawn rolls the eye she can. I find myself breathing heavier than normal.

I didn't set out to find her. Matter of fact, I was hoping against it. Just one day without drama would be lovely for once, but I can't seem to escape the chaos that fills my life. From what I can tell, Dawn hasn't either. She too, is trapped in this room.

"That's not what I meant," she corrects me in a quick quip.

Her arms are bruised and her neck is red in a way I can't describe. It's green and purple, and all the things that aren't her.

"It's easy," I tell her. Why am I being honest? "It's kind of like klunking. I don't really ever start out my day wanting to, but sometimes I've got to."

She snorts, but doesn't avert her eyes from me. I don't think I can say I quite understand her, nor can I say that I get her, but I think maybe she gets me a little better.

"Were you looking for me, or did you just stumble in here?"

"Yes and no," I find myself sinking to her level, quite literally, and crossing my legs on the floor. "Newt is trying to find you."

"Why?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I'd figure you'd know. Aren't you shanks like friends or something else ridiculous? You both talk funny."

She shakes her head. "We don't really know each other. Besides, his accent is nothing like mine."

Never really thought about it before, but now that I'm thinking about it, they sound nothing alike.

I take a hair tie from around my wrist before beginning to pull my hair up. It's in the way of whatever is happening here. The red of it swims around me in a way that makes me feel entirely uncomfortable. Dawn takes notice of my shift, as she pulls herself further up the wall.

Maybe she was talking about Newt, but Dawn and I really don't know each other. We sort of just exist in the same space. I can't remember the last time I talked to her. It must have been before I was locked up.

"I thought you two hung out a lot," I press on. "Does he know?"

"About..." she trails off, and I don't need her to finish the sentence for me to fill in her blank. "No. No one knows."

I scoff, "so you fell on your face then?"

"Climbing the walls, actually," she scrunches her nose up, and I hear her groan under the pain in her head. "I've done it before and I've fallen before. It's a niche intersection that might just fool Newt."

"What about Leo?" I ask.

I try not to think about her organically. She is a Med-jack though, so she'll obviously be the one to check out Dawn's face. Leo is a hypochondriac too, so she'll be all over Dawn, dotting and prodding. Now I understand why Dawn is hiding.

"She'll believe it," she tells me. "Leo likes to find solutions to problems."

"Leo likes to worry," I watch her smile, and I find a smirk on my face.

Dawn and I are trapped in here together. The pipsqueak, Ella, is already going nuts and Leo is definitely jacked as well. Bruised, bloody, and beaten by this room, Dawn and I are the only one's who share this experience.

I don't know if I really believe Gally. Of course Dawn is many things, but she is not insane. She is not the evil I want her to be. If she is, she is way too good at hiding her intentions for me to ever best her.

"You make hurting others seem so easy." Dawn remarks casually, "It's not."

"Hurting is easy," I am honest about it. "Really easy, actually. It's easy to hit someone when they do something wrong. It's harder to hold back."


	49. I'm blind

Ella 48

"Can I see Zart?"

Clint looks at me funny as he shuts the door behind him. "I forgot you could talk."

He says it in a tone so straight I detect no sarcasm. Although, I've never been good at listening to people. Sometimes they talk and I hear them, but hearing, listening, and comprehending are very different things.

I don't listen, I occasionally hear, and I never comprehend.

For example, I am stuck in this room. I heard listened to the first half of Clint's explanation as to why, and though I heard all of it I comprehended nothing.

Clint sits down, pulling up a chair near the end of my bed. I would say I expect a physical examination, except I expect nothing. The silence creeps up on me and I wait for the fog to roll in. I wait to be lost amongst the grey clouds that pool in around my feet. The world is a strange place though, and I am held afloat.

"What were you doing before you had the most recent seizure?"

I remember, at least mostly. Zart and I were in a field. There was an injured Runner. I remember grey, but I remember black more. It slithered towards me, wrapping itself around my ankle, before spinning up my chest until it asphyxiated me. There were daisies, on a chain, hanging around me. Hanging me by the neck as I stopped breathing. The flowers are the colour of the walls that enclosed around us. Running through the halls in an attempt to escape that smoke man.

Every colour flashes before my eyes before I notice Clint. He is grey like Jeff, or not like. He is the grey of Jeff. Skin intersecting and intertwining at angles I've never seen but dreamt about. It's the way I imagine the purple girl to feel against me. In my grasp, small and warm and wonderful and everything.

"I don't remember."

He looks at me funny. "Let's walk through the last day you remember, before you were in here."

"It was white."

"Sorry?"

Before I was here it was white, and now it is grey. Nothing is ever like the black that I am. It's an alienating experience to live among such colourless people. The only black I ever encountered terrified me deep to the core, and I hate this is what my culture has become. Washed out into a blanket whiteness.

It is not just because of my skin that I am different from these people.

They chose to fight a battle they will never win.

"The daisy chain was white." Sure it was, but before I was here I was in an elevator, and before I was there on my way up, I was trapped in a white hallway. Before that, there was her, and our dark room, and the smoke man.

It comes to me in a clouded vision. What was it like before here? I remember there were tools, and empty rooms, and old sheets, and sterile cold environments.

This is a paradise I must escape.

"What daisy chain?" He knows the question, but asks for the answer anyway.

"He thought they would look nice in my hair." I take a stand, twirling it through my fingers as I reflect on the colour. "Do you think it did?"

"Do you think it did?"

I didn't get the opportunity to see myself. "No. I much prefer violets."

"Why?"

Because they remind me of her. Gold and purple look much nicer together than white and black. She was the most magnificent thing I had ever seen in my life. Nothing shall ever compare to her radiance. Especially not me and the daisy chain made by a turquoise boy who isn't her.

Why do I prefer violets?

"I love her. I don't love daisies."

"Who is she?"

He is full of questions. It's a game he is playing with me, under the guise of being concerned about my physical health. This is not an examination. This is an interrogation.

"You don't trust us girls, do you?" I ask him carefully, even though I am certain his answer is yes. "You think we are a bad omen."

"I don't think anything," he tells me, honestly, "I was hoping you'd disprove any reservations I have about you. Do you remember the first time we met?"

No, but that isn't because I don't have a brain tumour. "Something went wrong with me. It didn't work."

He cocks an eyebrow at me, waiting for my voice to scrape its way out my throat. They are listening. Even if I could tell him anything, he wouldn't believe me. I don't care to tell him anyway. Silence is my game.

"When did we first meet?" he continues on with his line of questioning.

"I couldn't see until the flowers started growing, but that is all I can tell you." I wait for him to ask why, but he doesn't.

"Was your vision blurry?"

"Grey."

"You're colour-blind?"

I shake my head. He isn't listening to my words. I can't explain this to him if he isn't listening as best as he can. This is where listening is more important than hearing. "Cloudy."

He stiffens in his chair as he cracks his back. "Are you in pain? Do you feel feverish and faint? How do you feel?"

Like I am drowning in an ocean of fog. I feel as though I will never be found in an infinite universe of screaming. My soul drags off the ground since I know I will never see her again, and my head is numb with heartache.

"Alone," I tell him.

He nods, sitting up. "I don't think you have anything human I can cure."

"What do you think is wrong?"

He cracks his knuckles, leaning closer to me. "I think what the Creators do to us didn't work properly on you. Whatever they erased, it wasn't your memories. If they erased anything at all, although there is something definitely wrong with your head. I think it might've made you seriously ill. You seem to have brain damage causing you intense hallucinations and seizures. We're going to keep you under observation for the next couple of days, until I decide what you and I are going to do moving forward."

"Am I going to be here alone?"

Clint shakes his head. "I'll let Zart visit you tomorrow, but not Leo yet. You are not to tell anyone what I think, although you are smart enough that I assume you already were going to stay silent."

I was. Normally I am silent anyway. I'm not going to let Clint in on what is going on in my head anyway. It must be mine to uncover and comprehend, and no one else's.

Until then, I shall be alone.


	50. I'm loving

Leo 49

She won't look at me. We have two med rooms, each with two beds. She lies on the one which I rarely go in. It's the one where we deal with people undergoing the Changing. Initially we were going to transfer Ella here today, until we found where Dawn was.

The youngest Slopper, they call him Chuck, found her on the ground of the Slammer. Asleep, or passed out, or something like that. Worst of all, she was alone.

Beaten.

Her face has swollen up. Red and purple bruises hiding her eye from sight. I can't imagine Minho did this, but he was the last person to see her before she was like this. He went looking for her last night. What if she said she didn't want to get back together with him?

I hope that isn't why this was done to her. If it is, I couldn't bare it. I might explode.

"Who was it?"

She turns away from me as she lies on the cot. No answer spreads out her lips and spills onto the ground. It's been like this for three hours.

When Minho comes back, I am going to scream in his face until he goes deaf. I will have what he did to her done on to himself. His body will be burnt to the ground.

I can say it in my head, but I don't have it in me. Although I barely know the guy, I can't believe he's done this. I can't believe this has been done. Who could possibly hurt someone like Dawn? What monster, rumbling in the night, finds it in their soul to break apart another person like this?

"I told you, I was climbing the walls." Of course she continues to lie. I don't know why she won't tell me it was him. "Just leave Leo."

If she won't tell me, I will find out for myself.

Standing up, I take one last look at her. My feet make their way out of the door with determination I have never felt in my whole life. The door shuts softly behind me, and when I turn around, I realise Newt is still behind me.

"Didn't you say you were going to get Alby?" I ask.

Newt squints at me, before he shrugs. A frown dominates his face. I must mirror his and the thought makes me sad. Why is it always hard? Why is the world collapsing down onto us? These Walls are suffocating. I don't know that I want to breathe this air.

"Jeff said he'd do it. I don't necessarily want to be there when Alby finds out someone hit her," he rakes his hands through his hair. I desperately wish to help him, but I don't know how. "I don't know who could've done it."

"If it was Minho-"

"It wasn't."

"You can't know that," I correct, following as he shakes off into the distance.

"I can," Newt tells me carefully. "You talked to Minho about her more than me. You know how he feels about her."

"If she doesn't feel the same, maybe he'd do this." I tell him. "He risked his life for her, so he must feel betrayed. He at the very least knows something. He was the last person to see her that we know of."

"Leo," he begins, as he moves towards the room I know is his, "you don't know him like I do."

"Well, you didn't know they were together for a week," I keep my voice in a hushed tone, but I see him glance back at me.

"You have known for a week?" He asks. "When did this happen?"

"Michelle was going to die the day I found out." I tell him as he opens the door. Forgetting formalities, I follow him in the room. "Who knows how long it has been going on before then."

"He didn't do this," Newt says, shutting the door behind me. "We should see who was up last night. What anyone saw or heard. Michelle might have found her beforehand."

"Michelle didn't do this," I interject, waiting for Newt to back away from me.

"Why not?" Newt asks. "She has been violent before. I sent her looking for Dawn, and she went towards the Slammer. Michelle could've done this."

"Michelle only attacks when provoked," I cut him off. "When people make threatening and aggressive advances towards her, then she will fight back. Trust me, I've pissed Michelle off way too many times to count and she's never given me a beating."

"Michelle has still attacked people." Newt cuts me off before I'm done.

"Are you honestly telling me Minho has never gotten into a fight?"

"It's different."

"How?" I demand to know why his double standard infects the air. "How is it any different?"

"Because he is in love with her," he continues on, collapsing on his bed. "Minho is in love with her and I know Minho."

"Still, he could-"

"Leo, do you remember ever being in love?"

Not in the way he means. We talked about love only a few days ago. He said he's has loved people many times over since he has been here, but being in love and simply loving are two very different things.

I don't think I can remember feeling the way he describes.

"Because I bloody do," he tells me. "I've been in love before."

I watch the colour drain out of his face. It reappears in his ears, which flush with heat. My feet feel planted on the floor. Everything within me shakes as I force myself to step closer to him. Why do I feel such a big disconnect from my brain and my body? Everything feels so stiff, when all I want is for it to be soft and smooth. I move down on the bed next to him, waiting for him to say something. Waiting for him to give me any sort of answer, although I don't ask for one. I can't force him to tell me something he doesn't want to.

I am foolish, and I'm not good at doing the one thing I'm supposed to do: heal people.

"I was in love with Alby."

When he says that, I realise something I never thought of before. Something that I forgot was even a possibility. Of course, it was obvious. From the first second, I should have known it. It's why everything has been so hard for me.

I choose to ignore the thought, since I can't bare its implication. Newt's waits silently for my response.

"Was?" I ask it carefully, and Newt sighs.

He scrunches his nose up, before burying his eyes in the palms of his hands. I can hear him breathing heavily. Why must everything be so impossibly hard? I am a failure, and I am pathetic.

"I was in love with Alby," Newt tells me, and I can hear his voice cracking. "I know what it is like to be in love, Leo. Minho could not have done this. I could not imagine hurting anyone like that, especially not someone I am in love with. No matter what they did to me. Love is funny like that. It never really goes away, you just choose to forget about it.

"Being in love is like losing a headache. After a while, I notice my headache is gone, although I don't know the exact second it changes. Things don't happen on the turn of the heel. The world isn't so simply. Things just keep building and building, until you suddenly notice everything is different, although it wasn't suddenly different.

"That is how I know that Minho could never hurt her. Because I've loved before. It doesn't just go away. He could not have hurt her if he truly loves her."

I have been in love too, Newt. The worst is that love still lingers. I don't remember learning it, but it is the same as putting frogs in water and then boiling them. They don't notice the temperature change, and then they die.

I have set myself up for a future of pain, and one I only realise I have just fallen into.

I know he is right.

"I thought you might be in here." Alby walks in the door, because of course he does. The Glade is not kind to the fragile.

Newt and I have lost this moment from each other. I wonder how Newt feels about Alby, and why it fell apart. Alby must not be into boys, or maybe just not into Newt. I don't know which one would feel worse.

Definitely not being into Newt is worse.

"We were waiting for you," Newt remarks. "We figured it would be most discreet to talk in here."

Newt is farther away from me now, although I don't know when or why that happened. All I know for sure is that it sucks immensely. Having this important moment stolen, is like being a vase and having a table-cloth ripped out from beneath me by an amateur magician. My body lies shattered along the bedspread.

"What happened to her?" Alby asks. "She says she was climbing a wall. Do you believe her?"

"She's done it before, but she's never been hurt." How can I speak when such a moment has been stolen from me? My game face is on, but I can't be leading. I should not be in charge of the girls, given my disposition.

"We should still find out who knows anything," Alby remarks. "Ask around to see if anyone saw anything last night. Find out what she was doing in the Slammer at the end of it all. Do you think she's honest?"

Dawn never tells me the truth, no matter how much I plead. "She's not good at lying. I don't see why she would anyway."

"She might be protecting a Glader." Alby remarks, brushing over my comment quickly. "Jeff says the injuries look like they happened last night, but of course he is no doctor."

"When Clint is done with Ella he said he'd look him over." Newt interjects, glancing at me as he said it. "He'll have a better idea than Jeff."

"Until then, see if anybody knows anything from last night," Alby remarks. "I'll talk to people while it's fresh in their minds. Focus attention on the boys who she knows: Dave, Frankie, and Joe. They're all Cooks after all. I'll talk to Minho when he gets back, and Fry-pan too, since they're Keepers and at least friends with her. I trust it you both didn't do this?"

I look at Newt, but of course I know both of us are innocent. Neither Newt nor I have it in us to incite that kind of hatred. Being angry is one thing, but manifesting it is another.

"If that settles it, we will start there." Alby opens the door behind him, turning to head out. "Make sure to focus extra attention on Michelle. She's the only person who has a definite history of violence who knows Dawn well. Don't talk to her, but ask around. Let me handle her personally."

I stand up, knowing full well we are about to start another witch-hunt.


	51. I'm dawning

Dawn 50

The door creaks open, and I won't look again. My whole-body aches still. When Clint came in, he treated my body like a corpse. The bed is cold and almost like an operating table. He felt my face, pressing with his fingers lightly into my skin, as he examined my eye. He pushed against the bruises on my arms and on my legs as well. After every thirty or so seconds, he'd put the part of my body down which he was examining and tick something down on his paper. His pencil scratching against his little clipboard was the only organic sound I had heard since I talked to Michelle.

When he left the room, he shut the door. I could hear his mutters through it. My injuries were consistent with a fall, one which happened at least twelve hours ago but no more than sixteen. At some point in the middle of the night I hit the ground with great force, although he can't tell if it was grass or concrete, nor how far I fell before I hit the ground. It wasn't substantially enough for me to get a concussion, but if he were to guess I had some bruising in my wrist.

Alby didn't care about the details. He was content to know that I would not be working for three days, that my injuries were consistent with a fall at around 3:00 in the morning, and that no one else had been treated for any injuries similar to mine today.

Although, Alby was intrigued when Clint mentioned my behaviour and secretive nature was not consistent with trauma due to collision, and more consistent with that of some sort of fight. However, they couldn't prove anything.

So, when the door opens again, I am more than unwilling to answer any questions that Alby has for me. Alby and Clint combined can go shuck themselves.

Someone's weight is against my bed, and I only curl up tighter.

A thought creeps into the back of my head, and I know who is here. It is Ben, and he is here to finish what he started.

My hand flies into the drawer beside me, finishing out a scalpel as I turn around, aiming it towards his face.

I'm greeted by Minho; the blade is inches from his nose. Fingers reaching up to slowly, to find mine, I drop my hand before he can get any closer.

"Dawn," he begins.

"What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's late."

"Who did this to you?" He ignores, looking at my face. "Are you okay?"

"You will be banished if they catch you." Since when do I care about stuff like that? I think I'm just trying to get him to leave.

"I don't care if they banish me," he slides closer to me, taking the scalpel from my fingertips and putting it back in the drawer which I stole it from. "I've never cared Dawn. Who hurt you?"

"I fell off the wall, I'm sure Leo told you," I tell him.

He isn't satisfied. He looks down into his lap, his legs crossed so he can sit and face me. In the dark, it is hard to read his expression, but his jaw is soft and his eyes are creasing. "Leo thinks I hurt you. She won't talk to me."

"So that's why you came?" I demand, crossing my arms over my chest. "You want me to tell Leo you didn't hurt me?"

"I don't care what Leo thinks." He pleads with his beautiful eyes, and I try not to swoon. "Why won't you understand me?"

I can't understand him. He is confusing left and right. Despite this, I want to understand. Desperately, I crave him. I know that if I try to be with him, Ben will hurt us. Ben will hurt him and I couldn't handle that. Watching a collar forced over Minho's neck as he is shoved out the Doors would kill me. I can never watch Minho trapped behind those Maze Walls. That is my greatest nightmare. I know what those Grievers will do. I saw them up close, and I saw Stephen's body. Never could I bury Minho like we buried Stephen.

Besides, Minho thinks we are just friends.

"To shuck with that." He tells me. "You weren't climbing the Walls. I searched for you all night. Through all the rooms in the farm, and all the corners of the Homestead. You weren't up no shucking Walls. The only place I didn't check for you was the rooms where people slept."

That's not true. He didn't check the Slammer.

"I wasn't in any Glader's room if that's what you are suggesting-"

"I don't care if you shacked someone else." He tells me, and though I watch his eye crease at the thought, I know he is telling the truth. "Shuck Dawn, you can tell me you've shacked all my friends. I don't care at all, if they did that to you. I can't watch you hurt like this."

"You don't even care. You only showed up here because I got hurt."

He wipes his hand on his chin, pulling himself closer into me. I find myself fully sitting up, and leaning into shared space.

"I just told you I was looking for you anyways. I just shucking want to be with you. I have never liked anyone like I have liked you Dawn."

This makes it so much harder. Minho is everything I have ever asked for. He is the starry night sky over top of an ocean. He is all the warmth the world could ever give me.

I can't lose him, and that is why this is so incredibly hard.

"He knows about us," my voice slips into a whisper, and creaks in my mouth. I feel dizzy, and I can feel his hands on me. Any longer and I know Ben would've torn me apart. His teeth burning out of his mouth, devouring me. Starting at the skin and chewing deeper and deeper until he gnaws on what is beneath my bone. What is beneath me.

The worst part is that I would've let it happen to save Minho. If I had not bit him, I would've. That is the worst part. How could I know a boy for such short time and give myself up for him that easily?

"Who?" His voice is hoarser than mine, and he looks at me as he says it. Chocolate eyes water in a way that makes me want to burn myself to the ground. How could I hurt him like this? "The slinthead who did this?"

"He said he would have you banished." I interject, staring into the sheets beneath me. I can't meet his eyes when I know how much pain he is in.

"Did he touch you?" Minho moves closer, placing his hands on my sides. "Shuck, Dawn. Did he force you?"

I shake my head. He tried, and I was stupid. Minho could be killed because of my stupid decision. If I hadn't fought back, Ben would not be a threat. I wouldn't be in so much bloody pain and Minho wouldn't be in this room with me. We keep going in circles. Dangerous ones; ones which only end in our destruction and pain.

Ones which are entirely my fault.

"No," I end up saying it as Minho pulls me into his body. I never thought he would hold me again. It hurts that it happened after all of this. "No, he didn't."

Though he tried he didn't, but I don't need to let Minho know about that. I can just pretend we got into some sort of physical altercation when I the guy came up to me.

"Who was it Dawn?" Minho asks, pulling back so he can stare into my eyes. "Who did this?"

I shake my head firmly, taking in a deep breath. "I've taken care of in Minho. It's over."

I hope.

"Shuck," he mutters to himself leaning back on the bed to straighten himself up. "I should've been there."


	52. I'm afraid

Michelle 51

"You are late," Gally notes as I walk into the Homestead.

The room we were working on had a person fall through the roof. Again. Construction has been halted on top of the building while we rip open the walls. If people jumping on the floor above causes it to rip out from beneath them, we need a better support system.

"I am exactly on time," I tell him, even though I am an hour late. "I see you finally cleaned up the mess."

Yesterday's job was to remove the floor above us, and rip down the walls. The door and the window were good to stay, which makes me somewhat okay with the situation at hand. It feels less like we are starting from scratch. Reinforcing the interior shouldn't take more than the day. It'll take another to drywall it and paint it. As far as I can tell, we will be doing it for the rest of the week. Which is fine with me; the longer I put off building this room, the farther I can be away from Leo and Dawn.

I mean, I haven't talked to Leo in awhile, but Dawn seems okay now. Or at least, not okay but okay for me to talk to. I think she gets it.

"No thanks to you," he grabs my arm, dragging me away from the crowd of boys sticking up the wall. One of which is David, who only looks at me through the door frame. His blue eyes stare me down as I am ripped out of sight.

His eyes are the same colour as mine.

"What were you doing yesterday?" He demands. "I have half a mind to report you."

"I was with Dawn," I mutter, once again ripping myself from his grip and backing against the wall. He is so demanding. Where was I, and what did I do, and why wasn't I here? I have half a mind to deck him, although I think we are on the same team. "Newt sent me looking for her. Some shank beat the crap out of her."

Gally looks taken aback, stepping away from me. "You're serious?"

I nod carefully. "It was bad. She won't say who, but she's pretty mangled."

"They're going to launch an investigation." He tells me. "They'll think you did something."

I didn't, and he and I both know it. Dawn wouldn't rat me out either. If she would've, I'd already be in the Slammer again. All I have to do is keep my head down and pretend I don't know anything. Realistically, I don't know who did it. All I know now is that Dawn and I are somewhat talking to each other now.

"What's your cover story?" He asks me.

"I saw her climbing the Walls," she begins. "She said she was fine so I left."

He glances at me with a weird glint, but before I can explain, the door shuts behind Alby. I don't flinch at the sound, by I look up to stare at him. He crosses his arms over his chest, before looking at Gally.

"I see news travels fast," he steps closer to us, swinging his arms forward so he can crack his back.

"I wanted to know where Michelle was yesterday," Gally tells Alby, staring him down. "She wasn't here after all. I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me when you were talking my Gladers for personal errands."

"It wasn't personal," he tells Gally, before looking at me. "You saw her climbing the Walls last night?"

How much of this conversation did he overhear? "Yes."

He nods, before crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn't believe me, but he has no proof against me. I'm only corroborating what he has already heard from Dawn.

"Any explanation as to how she got in the Slammer?"

I shake my head. "No."

"She was bloody and beaten up and left there, but I'm sure you've heard that by now."

"She was climbing near the Slammer," I should give myself more credit when I'm lying. I'm not actually terrible at it. Even if I was, I'm good at getting away with this. Although there isn't really anything to get away with. "She must've fallen."

"Alby, if you aren't having the Med-jacks look at her knuckles, which I can assure you aren't bruised, and you aren't having the Baggers arrest her, I think we are done here. Don't you?"

Alby nods, backing away slowly. "If you know anything else Dawn, feel free to come find me."

The door shuts behind him. "What kind of lie was that? They'll see through it immediately."

I hate how he thinks I'm an idiot. I'm not an idiot, nor am I some ridiculous incompetent fool. I get how things work, and Dawn and I agreed on a story. Forgive me if I am sticking with it.

"I'm in her circle now, so if I were you I'd leave me to my business," I tell him.

The hallway clatters with noise, as boys push their way down and around me and Gally. For a second, I lose him in the sea of boys.

"Shuck," I hear Gally mutter. "Lunch, and we already are hours behind schedule."

When aren't we?

As the boy's finish pushing through us, I notice Gally is gone. How is it the only time I am actually trying to talk to Gally he disappears? I have a bad habit of almost always seeing him. Unfortunately, he and I are connected at the hip. There are few things I know that he doesn't.

"Hey," of course David stumbles into the hallway. I can't avoid him.

"Shouldn't you be in the Kitchens?" I spit. "Aren't they understaffed since Dawn hasn't been there."

He cracks his knuckles, looking at me. "I'm supposed to go back after lunch. I told Fry that Gally needed me. Since, you know, the building collapsed."

"Sure," he recoils at my use of sarcasm. What does he want me to say? He has been trying to speak to me for days, and I've been ignoring him. Can't he take a hint?

"Mich-"

I knock his hand away when it reaches for me. He doesn't get to talk to me, or reach for me, or anything. "David, you can't just expect me not to be mad at you."

"I was right."

"About what?" I demand, staring him down. My cheeks begin to heat with anger, and the only thing I know to do is explode. I want to hit him. Every inch of me wishes to have my fist collide into him, because that's the only way I know to get him to stop. "About what were you right? That people like me? That I'm afraid? I think you missed that I'm being accused of another crime."

"Tell me you don't like me."

I sputter at his words, looking away from him at the ceiling. Who does he think he is? Asking me to tell him the truth isn't going to do anything.

"What the shuck do you mean by that?" I demand. "Are you really that slintheaded? You think I have feelings for you?"

"Tell me you don't consider us friends, and I will leave you alone." He says it earnestly.

I can't see him for who he actually is. The David I know is hidden beneath baggy eyes, and a straight lip. Normally he cracks a smile, but isn't loud and happy. Normally he looks at me out of the corners of his eye, and normally he'll tell Gally off every once in awhile.

A David in pain is not a David I know.

"Aren't we friends?"

"I don't like you," I tell him. "Not in the way you asked me to in the closet."

He presses his lips together, trying to tie together a sentence into a beautiful little bow. There is no beauty; there is only a fight. "I was way out of line. I shouldn't have done that. Doesn't change the fact that we are friends."

"Why are you so bent on us being shucking friends?" I cross my arms over each other. "We work together. We don't socialize, we don't talk, we don't drink together."

"Mich, I just-"

"Don't Mich me," I tell him. "You don't get to Mich me. I don't even know you Dave, and you don't know the first thing about you."

He stops talking, before pushing past me.

"We aren't finished!" I call out after him, grabbing hold of his arm.

He rips himself out of my grip, before turning to stare at me with a straight look on his face. He glares down at me through his beady eyes, as he waits for me to speak.

"Yes. We. Are." He punctuates every word in a way that makes me regret everything I have said to him up until this point. All the anger washes away, and suddenly I am left to wonder who I am behind the bitterness.

I am a blank canvas.

"We are friends." I tell him, and wait to see how he reacts.

His brow furrows, as he slows down. Stopping still, time stands in the room with us. It is just him and I, and no one else.

"We are friends, David," I tell him, and I'm not sure why. "We've been friends since we were drywalling all that while ago. I don't know you, nor do you know me, but we are friends."

He seems to relax, as his breathing calms down. The Glade pauses as David tries to catch up with the conversation we are having. With all that is going on, David waits to catch up.

"Thank you," he begins. "Thank you, Michelle."


	53. I'm barely paying attention

52 Ella

"I tried to bring in another flower chain, but they said you might be plant-sick."

I smile as Zart sits down next to the bed. He wears clothing I've never seen before, and I am surprised I noticed. The world feels clear. I am surprised I noticed anything.

"It's very late," the sun has long since set, and I've been waiting for him to come all day.

He nods slowly, even if sadly. "A lot of track-hoes were helping the Builders today."

I heard the crash late last night. Michelle must be upset. Of course I can see why; all her hard work toppled over and fell to the ground. I haven't seen her through the window today.

"How is it out there?" I stare outside, looking into the night. All I can see is an abyss of darkness. Either the smoke man has taken over, or it is so late there are no lanterns even lit. I don't think I quite understand it anyway. He has been gone for too long, and so has the violet girl. I am very lonely in a head with only my voice.

"We're trying to hold up without you," he calls over my shoulder, "although it isn't the same with you here. I can't say I'm surprised though. The Glade has less colour without you."

How odd.

I recognise skin but I know no soul. Glimpses glitter in the corners of my eyes when I see the colour the smoke man so desperately tries to hide. It's not as difficult as remembering, since I only have to wonder. The difficulty in dissecting who anyone is.

Zart hides behind a grimy layer of dirt. It cakes on his face, and I am surprised his turquoise colour manages to grow through the filth. Before all this, who was he? Will he ever know? Will we ever know what we have become? Does it even matter who we once were?

"It's been different since you four came," he remarks.

"How?"

He scoffs, looking down at his feet. "Brighter? Maybe happier?"

I'm not happy. Every single inch of my face tingles with the absence of a smile. Have I ever smiled?

Before all this, she smiled at me. I must've smiled back. I don't remember what it feels like for the muscles in my face to move, but I know there is no universe where I would want to live without smiling back.

For she is radiant and I am a mirror.

"Well, at least it's more entertaining," he finally settles on that idea, the bed creaking under his shifting thoughts.

"Who is there to watch?" I ask, though I know the answer.

Even the bugs can hear us. I wonder if there was a time before I was being absorbed. They must be doing something. Why else would we be here?

What do I remember?

The violet girl and the smoke man are the strongest. The two are infinitely apart but completely intertwined. He was there, his white pen and his gridded glasses, taking notes and hurting me in ways I either don't remember or chose to forget. Destroying me for what I am, he is not a monster. He is a computer. She was there, which is all I can tell you. Once there now gone, she was the air I breathed in a room that swallowed me whole.

Then there is the hallway. We were running. I had left her behind, or she had left me long ago. Both and neither are not just possible, they are correct. There was red holding me up as I tried to fall, and lock picking and scuffling. What we were doing was wrong. Although I don't know what.

"You still there Curly?" I like that he calls me by a fake name. It's more real than the one I've been assigned. More tangible in a way, since it's as if it was actually mine. Even though all the names I've had were given to me, one was stolen.

I want it back.

"Maybe," I feel okay. I guess foggy is a better word. As if in my self-deprecation I let him sneak up on me again and surround me in his choking grey. The smoke man has been gone for a while, and only just now did I realise he hasn't been gone.

He is very angry at our coalition, that much I am sure. He is going to get revenge and I cannot stop him. There is no apology that can come from a mouth which has forgotten. At least not one that I can say in words in this language. Perhaps in any language I am silenced.

"Do I need to get Clint?" Zart is already on his feet moving towards the door.

I stand up to follow him, but I can feel the weight of my knees. They seem to feel like boulders against my body. As if I am being dragged down for all the terrible things I've done.

A pit rises in my stomach, as I remember I've done wrong, but not onto who. I am the Great Betrayer. Left behind are the ones I've loved; it was my job to remember after all. That was my part of the deal.

She wo the one who dragged me. I knew that she was a traitor to them. It's why I followed her. It wasn't her idea though. Nothing has happened by accident. Not my involvement, not my showing up here, none of it. It's my job to know what is happening.

I was supposed to be part of the four, but I refused to do my part. Why can't I remember?

It's because of him. I knew him, I was supposed to take the place of her, but I wouldn't cooperate. Not when I was forced to give up a name I once loved. After all of that, how could they think I would co-operate? Why would they wonder why I was here?

I throw them off. They didn't think I'd ever get the courage to get rid of them, but I did. Maybe they'll have to wipe and reset now. Such hard work to waste.

It doesn't matter. I could've done it better.

"There are eleven days," I tell Zart, not waiting for him to catch up. "Eleven days before it gets much worse."


	54. I'm obedient

53 Leo

I sit around the bonfire, alone. Normally the crowd that gathers here sits and laughs and drinks, but everyone is gone. Then again, normally those people are here to hang out with Dawn, who isn't in bed anymore but certainly isn't here. Although I don't really talk much with them, I know her friends well enough that I don't consider myself alone when I am with them.

Here, I am surrounded by my own solitude.

You know, I notice I am alone a lot. Especially in large settings. The silence rings in my ears, but so it does as well when people talk. I guess everything seems foggy.

I get up, moving my feet forward to "I Don't Know Where". They find there way up themselves and away from the fire. Away from the quiet chatters of people hanging around the buildings and away from the noise that surrounds us.

Ella is dying, Michelle is Michelle, and Dawn is destroyed.

The worst part is, I know it only gets worse from here. Or maybe the even worse part is I'm powerless, and also the problem. I take a deep breath in, forgetting how to exhale for a minute as I stand still.

My fist shakes in my hand and I can feel my cheeks turning deep scarlet. Is this why Michelle is always angry? Is she always afraid? I know I certainly am trying not to be.

I can't worry anymore.

My feet move closer and closer to the doors, which are shut tight. Pressed together firmly to keep those shucking Grievers out of her

Before me are two walls made of stone, covered in vines. Although they are massive, they do not intimidate me like they used to. After all, too much of me has been turned to dust by the fear that courses through my veins.

I take the green vines in my hand, not pulling on them before I prop my feet off the ground. Of course I'm not that strong, so the force rips through my muscles as I hold myself up. Taking one hand, I reach farther up, the skin on my hands burning against the vines. My hands are sweaty and the vines are slippery, but I pull myself further up anyway, letting my feet rest in grooves in the Wall.

Stopping for a second, I precariously leaning against the corners of the Walls as I wrap two vines around my hand. It takes me a minute to do it without falling, using solely one hand to hold myself up and a few ruts in the Walls.

When I'm done, my grip against the vines is much better. My arms seer as they pull me higher and higher. The whole thing almost feels out of my control. The distance I have travelled escapes me, though I can't manage to look down and check. There is no going back.

I take one breathe in once more, hoisting myself up one place further. Anymore I go, and the vines get thinner. Though I am not huge, I am not small enough to be supported by a thread.

My eyes manage to dart away from the Wall once, turning around to see the Glade. From here, everything is small. I'm not that high up; I can only barely see the top of the Homestead. From here though, everyone looks dark and blurry. Any person's single identity is useless. Somehow, as much as all of it matters, none of it matters from here.

The thought takes weight off my chest. Everything that happens down there is as small as the people are. I can breathe with that thought off my chest. In fact, it makes breathing substantially easier.

That was all I needed.

But, at the same time, it isn't. This is the illusion of a fix. Sure, maybe I'm not afraid, but I feel hopeless. If our problems are so small, why do I care so much? Why am I such a problem?

I lower myself closer to the ground, essentially sliding down the vines to do so. A fall from this height couldn't kill me, but it would really damn hurt. Maybe I'd pop out a bone, if I were to hit the ground.

It doesn't seem to matter to me.

My feet hit the ground, and I am okay. Everything is okay, and everyone is okay. There is always drama going on; I've just got to get used to it. It's difficult, but I can try.

I walk further into the Glade, looking around. From here, I can tell no That moment is only for me to breathe in. I'll put it in my pocket for the next time someone does anything and I forget how to breathe.

Now I don't simply flow around. I walk back to the bonfire, though the adrenaline in me keeps me warm. A nervous edge cutting at my feet.

"Lee, hey," I turn to see Frypan sitting on a bench. He looks up at me, before letting his eyes fall back to the fire. "I was looking for you."

I shake my head, finding myself sitting down. I don't think I've ever talked to Frypan before. The circle I mostly stick to is the Med-jacks, the first-in-command and his second, and the girls. Sure, we've exchanged the passing words here or there, but we've never talked.

"Are you asking about Dawn?" I tell him. "Clint could give you a better update on her status than I could."

"No, I know she's fine," he shrugs his shoulders. "I already asked Clint. She's cleared to come back to work tomorrow, which Dave isn't going to take well. He's been avoiding Gally all week."

I nod, though I have no idea who Dave is. Although at a base level I feel like I understand the guy. Even though I've never talked to Gally, I've heard him yell at the Builders long enough to know he is a right shank.

"Can you blame him?" I ask.

Fry has a deep chuckle, and its resonance causes me to smile to myself. He seems like such a kind Glader, in all honesty. It doesn't surprise me that Dawn loves working for him so much.

"No, I can't," he squints as he stares into the flames. "Although, Dave and Gally seem to get on much worse lately. I bet it's because of your ginger friend."

"Michelle?" I ask, almost laughing myself.

He nods carefully, before glancing at me. "The Glade has gone shucking nuts since you guys got here. Nothing's really changed, but no Glader can keep it in their pants."

Though the sentiment seems creepy, Frypan's delivery makes me blush. I can tell he is saying it because he sees me not as a girl, but as an equal. Not that being a girl doesn't matter to me, but sometimes it's nice just to be a Glader.

"I can definitely tell," I mutter, and I hear him snort in response, as if I've said the funniest thing in the world. Although no one has fallen head over heels for me, I can tell a whole ton of people like Dawn. Michelle is no exception either; even Clint thought it was weird how many shucking Builders started coming in with injuries after she joined their team. Didn't think it was to see me; from what I understand they've been distracted.

"You get the lucky end of the stick," he tells me, "since you mostly hang out with Clint and Jeff."

I nod in agreement. Those guys are really nice, and wouldn't ever make a weird move on me.

"Did you talk to Dawn?"

I shake my head. "Not since yesterday anyway. She wouldn't really talk about what happened. Claims she was climbing a wall."

Frypan shrugs, pushing his shoulders back in an attempt to crack his spine. "You can't always make people talk, but I'm sure she'll come around. We've seen our fair share here; Dawn isn't the first Glader to get beaten up and not rat on the other guy. Maybe she won't tell you who, but give it a week and she'll be back to her normal self."

I hope so.

"Fry," I hear a voice, and look up to see Alby staring at him.

The boy beside me is immediately on his feet, teetering off. "You don't need to say nothing more shank. I gotcha."

I'm about to call out to Frypan, to at least someone end our conversation, but Alby is already sitting down next to me ready to speak.

I watch Fry go, leaving me with Alby. He takes a spot with me on the bench, sitting closer to me than Frypan does. His entering my space isn't a kind and friendly gesture like that of Frypan. When Alby enters, he means business. Everything he says has some sort of back handed meaning. He waits for my full attention before speaking.

"We've got no leads for Dawn, and I haven't got an idea as to who attacked her." He admits quickly, not giving me room to think. "Michelle confirms Dawn's story though."

"There is no shucking way she was climbing the Wall." I find myself fitting the gaps where Alby lets me. If we operate like a team, we work together like a clock. Though, I don't really no much about Alby. I can tell he means business, and he's just trying to hold the Glade together as best as he can.

"Of course not, but she ain't gonna say nothin'" Alby remarks breathing out.

I wonder if Alby is just as stressed as I am most of the time. As breathes, I can see his chest restrict. All he deals with everyday is difficult decisions and conflict. Of course, that's a Glader's life. It's a little different for him I imagine. At least a little bit harder.

He manages and I can't. Kind of pathetic. Kind of hopeless. Kind of unkind. Like the Glade, heartless.

"So, we're just going to leave it?" I ask.

Alby nods. "Unless we can prove Michelle is lying, which we ain't gonna. The timelines match up anyway, since Dawn hurt herself two night ago. Gally wouldn't so much as let me get a word with Michelle. I have half a mind to think he did it."

"Gally only talks to Michelle," I tell Alby. "As far as I can tell anyway. sounds to me like he was trying to help her, not the other way around."

He nods at my point, which I mostly made because I know Michelle didn't do it, and I know she didn't cover it up for Gally. I can almost guarantee that if Michelle was involved, she'd immediately absolve herself of all blame. Though she pretends she fears nothing, that girl does not want to get banished.

"So what's the plan?" I ask Alby as he stands up.

He shrugs, carefully glancing at me. "Move on from it. We're not going to know what happened, and if the next disaster ain't waiting around the shucking corner, then I don't know nothing."

I stand up too. "Good that."


	55. I'm scrubbing

54 Dawn

"You didn't have to stay with me all night," I murmur the words clumsily into his chest, breathing in the sweet scent of freshly washed linen. Never have I known Minho to smell clean, and I have never minded before now. There is just something about cleanliness that sinks deep into my soul.

He sighs, pulling me in deeper towards his chest. I could lie here forever. At least until my bones turned to dust anyway. There is nothing that could make me leave this bed nor leave this space with Minho.

It is so small and tight, which I guess is what makes it perfect. Maybe due to its limits I crave it more. I wish to have the sunlight kiss my skin as I kiss his. That dream seems so far away. All I have ever known is this. Perhaps next time I wake up it will be in another unknown place.

My memories mean nothing. So long as I can find Minho again, I would do this whole thing over again.

"What's your favourite colour?" He asks me.

"Why do you ask?" The question strikes me as odd, especially since it's so out of place.

Especially since I am trying so hard to not say my least favourite. Which is red if anyone is keeping score, because that was the colour of mine and Michelle's blood on the floor of the Slammer. I try not to think about Ben.

"I've known you for two weeks Dawn," he sighs. "I mean, I get that time exists differently here, but still, that's shucking nothing. I want to know more about you."

I pause, letting his words sink in. Trying to think about them instead of Ben. He wants to more know about me. Not just the girl who kisses him in the forest at night nor all the drama which unfolds around us. There is not much time that exists in this place, and he wants to spend it with me. He doesn't just want my body, he isn't Ben.

"Brown," I tell him quietly.

He gives me an odd look. "That's a klunk colour, literally."

"It's my favourite." Brown is the colour of comfort. It is the tinge that stains the tables in the kitchen. The sweet smell soaks in the skin of my friends, after spending days digging in the Gardens and building in the Homestead. Brown is the colour I first saw when I came up on the first day. The first thing I noticed was the ground around the box, before it turned to grass.

Brown is the colour of Minho's eyes.

Ben's eyes aren't brown. I don't know what they are, but they aren't brown. His nails were though, from digging around in the dirt all day. That dirt is on me now.

"I thought you'd like something like fuchsia, or lime green." I doubt he has ever seen those colours. I know I haven't anyway, although I can still picture them clearly in my mind. "Brown is boring."

Maybe it is boring. I am all one for excitement, but there is something in me that feels attached to all that I have known. Do I want to leave this Glade? Yes, of course. However, do I want to leave all the people I love? Absolutely not.

"What's your favourite colour?" I ask him.

"Blue," he tells me.

"Why?"

He pauses, pulling me in closer to him. His arms are tight around me, and he buries his lips in my hair, if only for a second. I can hear his muffled words, and I can feel his chest hum with the sound of his voice.

"When I'm in the Maze, there isn't much accept grey and green everywhere. Green from the vines, and grey from the stone. The sky, however, is blue. So are your eyes."

I find my cheeks heating. "Why do you like the sky so much?"

He shrugs, but only just so as not to move me too much. "It's the only thing that connects the Glade to the outside world. I've always wanted to get out. See what there is out there. It's why we run. Wouldn't do that klunk for fun, would I?"

There was no sky in the Slammer.

"That's why I like the stars so much." I am not certain, but I speak with certainty. "There's so much out there to see, like there is an infinite number of stars in the sky. I want to really see them, not just look."

Minho doesn't say anything to this, instead he favours to pull me in against him tightly. He clings on to me as if am a life raft. We live in a vast sea with a wicked undertow. Everything is trying to sink us and nothing with fall into our hands for our salvation.

If he doesn't leave soon, someone will find us. Then he'll be banished. I assume I am in the clear for now since I was beaten up. They'll assume he did it anyway, even if I come out and say Ben did it. I can't ask him to leave though, not when I want him so desperately to stay next to me until there is nothing left of us nor this Glade. That can't happen though.

I care about him too much to let him die for me. Maybe love is the word, but I can't see it yet. I can't think much past Ben's hands.

"You need to go soon," I tell him carefully.

He shakes his head. "I can't leave you. Not again."

I attempt to pull away from him, only to have his grip against me tighten. It is firm, not harsh. Rolling my eyes, I rip myself out of his grip, sitting up.

I lean down to the ground, grabbing my plaid shirt. When I grab his and throw it at him, he groans. "I don't want to leave you, shank."

"Well, you have to." I button up the shirt, straightening my plain black tank top below it. My fingers rake through my hair, tying it up in a bun. "You can't bloody stay here all day."

He gets up off the bed, finishing buttoning up his shirt. "Who's going to shucking stop me?"

Leaning against me, he presses a kiss against my forehead. I can't help but laugh as he does so, lightly skimming his shirt with my hand. "Alby, actually."

"Please, that slinthead couldn't even try," he shakes his head, a goofy grin against his face.

I stand up, pulling him closer to me. My hands rest nicely against his back, and his arms fall perfectly around my waist. Our lips, when they meet, are magnets. No matter how hard I try to pull away, I always come back. When I do, I realise how well we fit together.

He breaks away, brushing the one strand of hair I missed out of my face. "I'll climb out the window. You head out the front door."

I plant one final kiss against his lips, and I watch him smile as I back away. "See you tonight Maze boy."

The door creaks open, and as I close it, he calls out after me.

"Tonight isn't soon enough Greenie."

It's a short walk to the Kitchens from the Homestead. Everything is a short walk from everywhere in the Maze, even though the kitchen is essentially opposite of the Homestead. It is located in a small building, between the Animal Pens and the Gardens. The Kitchen is only one room, accompanied by many others around it. The Bricknicks mostly control the storage, which is fairly close to the Gardens. The closest building to us though, is the Slaughterhouse, located just off of the animal pens.

The bathrooms are on the other side of the Glade, in the Homestead. I normally shower after breakfast, since that's when most Gladers start working. It's a bit of a pain getting there and back.

I open the door to the kitchen, which is already bustling with activity. Frypan has his hands deep in a bowl, mixing some sort of liquid I assume is going to become bread later. He's been trying to figure out how to get it to rise without a proper kneader, but he's had no luck so far.

I can hear Frankie's shrill voice, as usual, carrying throughout the kitchen. He is laughing at something, and when I look up, I am not surprised to see Dave covered in flour. Looks like he's still helping us out in the morning. For a while, he had disappeared to help Gally with the Homestead, since it was falling apart.

Joe is quietly chopping up onions, which is not unusual. He is the first to notice me. He nods when he sees me, squinting a bit. It's the most emotion I've ever seen him express.

"Hey Joe," Frypan calls, looking over, "do you mind passing me the pe-" as he moves along, his words get slower and slower until his eyes trail over to me. he stops, still in his feet, before moving in closer.

He wraps his batter-covered hands around me, pulling my face into his wild beard. I can't help but laugh at the force he has as he hugs me.

"That happy to see me huh?" I ask.

"I was hoping to see you today."

"Dee's back," Frankie drops the stuff in his hands, moving in closer to us. He lightly slaps me on the back, chuckling to himself. "You missed the cling-wrap disaster, it was-"

"Don't bring that up." Frypan pulls back, lightly shoving back Frankie. "You have no idea where I found some of that klunk yesterday. You're lucky I don't banish you to the Sloppers."

"You love him too much to do that," Dave looks up at me, waving with a ghostly-white hand. "I don't know how you handle them all day Dawn."

I haven't been able to, these last few days. I haven't been able to handle anything. Still I'm not sure I can be here. Perhaps I am, but perhaps I'm not. I am bothered, and maybe it is the state of distress which weighs me down.

"Glad I'm back to take them off your hands." I nod.

"You alright?" Frankie asks, going back to his station. Frypan follows after him. "We heard someone gave you quite the beating."

Before he can continue, Fry smacks Frankie upside the head. "You'd do shuckin' well to keep your mouth shut shank."

"I'm fine," I tell them, although remembering what he tried to do sends a shiver down my spine.

I lean into the sink, trying to wash my hands. Although I don't care about the blood on them, the stains will never come off. His touch has left me dirty, and I don't think I will ever be clean again.


	56. I'm sarcasm

55 Michelle

"So you made all up with David?" Gally grunts, his face contorted into a frown as he puts some of the extra wood away for storage for the night.

"I don't shucking report to you Gally," I spit, throwing the planks I'm holding between my hands back on the ground.

"You kind of do, I'm your Keeper." He retorts back, and I just roll my eyes.

He needs me more than I need him. Tomorrow we drywall, and then finally we should be done that room. Construction will be halted for two days for the room to sit, and hopefully not collapse, so he especially needs me on his side tomorrow morning if he wants to get Alby off his back.

"Doesn't matter," I tell him. "I'm not your shucking servant."

He takes the wood that I dropped on the ground, shoving it into the storage. Not caring about the mess he makes, he knocks things off of shelves which shatter against the hard ground. The sun has long since set, and he doesn't care about anything except finally eating dinner. Gally always leaves a disaster and expects other people to clean up the wreckage in his wake.

"How is it going with Dawn?"

"Mind your own business, and shuckin' wait," I snap back, crossing my arms over my chest. It isn't going particularly well with Dawn, mainly because I haven't tried. She won't say who hit her, and I'm not going to ask.

It doesn't particularly matter to me anyway. If she isn't going to rat, why would I?

"I take it not well," I can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Slim it."

He listens to me for once, shutting the door to Storage, leaning against it.

"She means trouble anyway," he stares at the dirt on his knuckles, as if I am less important.

Why do I always stand here and let him talk to me like this? We are partners; which doesn't mean he gets to shucking walk all over me. The word partners is they part of our arrangement.

"Since when do you give a shuck about what I do?"

"Since you've become such a slinthead." He tells me, finally looking up. "David talks about you all the time, you know. People are going to start thinking you both are breaking Alby's rule-"

"We aren't." Although he liked me, I didn't. I don't.

"That's why you hang out with him outside building," Gally mocks me, and it only makes my blood boil. "You don't even talk to me outside of building, and I'm your shucking Keeper."

"I could hit you so easily right now," I take a step closer to Gally until our chests are pressed up against each others, and we are both heaving. The collective energy of the Glade has risen from simmering to boiling over and over again. I am fire and flame, and if Gally thinks he can talk about Dave like he's going to hurt me then he has another thing coming. I'm not Dawn. I'm not going to get hit by a boy and be unable to take care of myself. Nor am I a stupid little girl who doesn't know any better. I know just fine that Dave isn't going to hurt me, and I'll be damned if I am forced to listen to Gally bossing me around like I'm some shucking slinthead.

"Then do it, huh?" He presses himself further against me, until my back meets the hard door to the storage unit. "If you want to hit me, then do it."

I shove him off of me, my hair falling into my face as I do so. All I see is red. Brushing the strands out of my face does not make the colour go away.

"I shucking will next time." I tell him, shoving my way past his body. My shoulder collides with him, and he is knocked to the side. "I'm busy. Meeting David."

He knows I am saying it just to piss him off but his face glows a hue of red unlike any he ever had before. The tomato-faced boy from before is back, and he's angry.

I'm angrier.

I find myself moving towards the forest. The Deadheads have made me feel sick since my near-banishment. I haven't been able to look at them without feeling a pit in my stomach open up and swallow the universe whole.

I step further into it, trying to breathe although I've forgotten what it feels like not to be angry. I am happy I don't have a weapon on me, otherwise I'd be carving my anger into a tree. After all, I am incredibly mad. Rage courses through me at Gally's audacity. He has put me in a position that is difficult to escape.

Currently, I need to help him put back together everything those shucking Builders destroy. The Glade has a way of destroying all that it touches, and our hands are no different.

At the same time, I'm supposed to be sucking up to Leo and Dawn, which is nearly impossible since they have so many weird things going on at the same time. Ella keeps collapsing, so Leo is rather preoccupied with trying to fix her in ways which are impossible. Meanwhile, Dawn is being beaten to a pulp and not telling anyone who did it nor why they did it.

At the same time again, I'm supposed to be lying low on Alby's radar. This is nearly impossible while I'm trying to be close to Dawn and Leo, since they are essentially magnets of trouble.

Even more at the same time, I'm supposed to be not getting into fights. The solution to this, is having David with me to police my behaviour. However, I'm not supposed to have David with me because he is dangerous, but he isn't. Because Gally has some weird jealous streak over me. I choose to pretend he doesn't like me.

This is literally impossible, and it takes everything I have not to break my hand by punching a tree with all the force I have.

"Of course it's you again," I spin to see Ben standing, leaning, against a tree. his head swings like it's loosely attached to my head as he pulls up closer to me. "You started it all."

I haven't seen this shank in a while. My first night here, he attacked me. Tried to get me to sleep with him; I remember that. Recently he twisted his ankle, or some other stupid klunk, and now he is off running for a while. I don't know how long, but long enough Gally might have to take him back to being a Builder. I heard that's what he was before this.

"You are shucked," I gesture to the now empty glass in Ben's hand. He must've broken into who knows where to get that. Alby's been cracking down on people drinking when there is no bonfire; if I were to tell anybody about Ben's behaviour he'd for sure get thrown in the Slammer at least for the night.

"You girls showed up," he drops the glass, moving forward. His eyes are black with heavy bags beneath them and he has a large purple bruise around his nose in a circle. "Nothing is right now, you know?"

From what I've heard from Dave, nothing much has changed at a fundamental level. Sure, Builders get injured more frequently when working with me, but that's user error. People tend to get shucked more, hanging around the bonfire with Dawn. Alby's gone shucking off the bend now, but I expected that. He's jacked now, from what I can tell he wasn't before.

Though nothing is different. Grievers show up about as much, fights are just as frequent, and supplies come up the same.

He stumbles closer to me, placing a hand on my wrist.

I'm quick to flip up his wrist in a way that actually makes him call out in pain. He backs off of me, pouting with his lips. "You're just like Dawn. Such teases you are."

He reaches forward to touch my hair, and I grip his wrist tightly, pulling his hand behind his back until he cries out in pain. His wrist is pinned between his shoulder blades.

"You like to touch me more than she did though," I can hear his grin even if I can't see it. "She had her mouth all over me though. Sweeter than Gally's drink. I wonder if you burn the way the liquid does when I swallow it."

Ben is ripped from my grasp and thrown onto the ground before me. He lifts his face out of the dirt and the groan he makes echoes through the Deadheads when the figure before me bashes it off the ground.

"What did you do to Dawn?" I recognise that voice, though not well enough that I can identify it.

Ben doesn't answer. The figure rolls him over so that his bloody face is on display for all of us to see. I don't realise I am moving in closer until I can see the blood, so dark it looks black, painting his teeth.

Ben freezes at the face, staring it down. The boy before me reaches down, and punches Ben square in the jaw. Ben coughs, blood spraying out his mouth and painting the boy. I shove the boy off of Ben, looking at the definitely unconscious boy with a broken nose.

"I didn't need your help," I turn to see Minho, the Keeper of the Runners. His shirt is stained with the splatter of blood, as is his face. He looks from his hands to me and I roll my eyes. "Oh quit looking so guilty."

"I was trying to help you," Minho says, out of breath, "I was trying to stop him."

"I didn't need your shucking help." I spit out the words angry at him, although for a second I pause. "Not that he didn't deserve it."

Minho stands up off the ground, wiping the sweat off his forehead. In doing so, he smears blood around his skin. Thankfully it is dark and it just looks like dirt.

I take out the handkerchief from my pocket that Dave used a few days ago to help me clean off the blood. "It won't come out of your shirt until you wash it, but for now just get it off your face. Quit acting like a slinthead."

"I'm not," he rips the fabric from my hand, wiping it across my face. "You aren't the only one who can be violent you know."

I scrunch my nose together, holding my hand out and clenching the handkerchief tightly when he passes it back to me. This seems to be his firs rodeo, with this kind of aggression. The kid doesn't seem clean, the shucking Runner boy. Bet he's the kind of boy that gets in a fight with his best friend over something silly, and the two make up the next day. Doesn't seem like the kind to have fought someone, and meant it. "Sure, that explains why you were sitting next to him like some Greenbean."

"I didn't know it was Ben, that's all." Minho corrects me, looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

"Please," I roll my eyes at his naivete. "He tried to sleep with me weeks ago. Locked me up for hitting him."

"Don't shucking think I'm Alby," he mutters. "I don't have to agree with the shank because I'm a Keeper, Greenie."

"I can see that," I gesture to where Ben lies on the ground. Doesn't seem he gives much of a dman about the fighting rules. I bet he's sleeping with Dawn, and that's why he's upset. Or at the very least, he has a massive hard on for her and doesn't know how to hide it.

Minho's eyes flicker there before flickering back to me. "You aren't telling Alby about this, right?"

I almost laugh at the idea. Who exactly does Minho think I am? "Not this shucking time. Ben won't say klunk. No story, no proof."

"You know, you aren't half as bad as you let people think." Minho looks at me carefully one last time, as if he is trying to find out who exactly I am. It's funny he can't figure out the answer; I haven't tried to hide it.

I scoff at the notion. "Not half as bad? Twice as worse."


	57. I'm ludicrous

56 Ella 

This is ludicrous.

"Come on El," Jeff bounces back and forth on his legs. His grey blends into his clothes, blends into the room and is one with everything inside the Glade. I barely recognise the humdrum of his voice from the sound of air flowing in and out of the room.

Today it is quiet. There is no sound from the Builders moving around. For now, I am being forced to attempt to "rehabilitate my cognitive ability" in the most ridiculous possible fashion.

"You could knick me if you tried."

Jeff is holding a scalpel. The metal shines through the grey in his attempt to swipe at me. "Clint and I used to duel all the time with these."

"And I used to win," Clint's voice rings from the chair he must be sitting it.

I don't want to hurt him. That's not my job. What I am supposed to do, I have long forgotten. The Smoke man may be gone, as may be the Violet girl, but they still linger in the air among us. I still have a responsibility to destroy one and help the other, but I know no matter what I do I will do the opposite of what I intend.

I would have better reflexes if I could see him, or even any of them beyond the cloud which surrounds me. A sting reaches my hand, and I can't pull it up to see it. In fact, it's almost like I am blind in this haze.

"Ella, it's like you aren't even trying." He asks, before pausing. I wish I could imagine what his face looks like. From here, his voice lacks tone. It's difficult to decipher if he is frustrated, concerned, or even happy (although that seems outlandish).

It's like you aren't even trying.

Michelle.

When he leans forward, I duck. Instead of attacking I curl into a ball and attempt to hide from him against the floor. I hear something shatter above me. The universe stills at the sound, waiting for any action to bring it back into motion.

"I need to speak to the others," I tell him, although I don't know which him I am speaking to. "I do not care which one. Whichever one is free."

No one speaks, as if all the words have been striped from their language and their minds. I have half a mind to repeat myself in one of the other languages I know.

"Leo should be a floor down," Jeff suggests.

"Not Leo," Clint corrects, standing up in his chair. He walks out the door, and I hear him call after Jeff though I do not hear a single word he says. I wonder if they say words, or even speak.

When they are gone, I am alone in the room. Separate, but there is a hand on my shoulder. One which presses its hand into my skin. I feel my shoulder blades crunch against themselves, and all I can do is scratch at the air.

"Ella."

My heart stills.

I cough, feeling bile rise in my throat. It is not the Smoke man here. He does not ravage my body like this. The smoke man forced me to forget my own name, and even worse forget hers. Tying me up against my nightmares until I remember nothing but screams filling my ears. Despite all of this, I refused to cooperate.

The boy who is here now, I know I am not the most scared of. Out of the one's I have met, he is the most docile. If we had walked different paths, perhaps he would be here with me now.

I remember nothing about him, except that we are the same. The difference between us, is that he is a coward. Unfortunately, I am brave.

"Please, I tried to fix it."

Not well enough. Not well enough. Not well enough. We are broken and dead and lying on the ground bloody. She is gone and away and forever separated and it is your fault for giving in. That man who hurt you did the same thing to me but I never gave in. You didn't fix it. You didn't try, and you certainly didn't want to try. Not enough to save those you claim to love. Not enough to provide any success. I am here, and I have ruined it because of your failures. Because you had hope.

"There is no fixing this mess you built." I spit, standing up. I recognise his voice though I do not see him. "I was supposed to be your partner. I was supposed to do what you did, but I said no. I refused. You are weak."

"Ella, please."

"That is not my name!" I'm screaming now, and I hear the door open though I see nothing. "He was going to kill me and I refused him. I refused the control and the mistakes and the whole ordeal while you did nothing. You are weak. I was younger than you, I was smaller than you, and I was stronger."

"You are going to hurt yourself."

"I do not care about myself anymore!" I am raging, ripping apart anything my hands can get on. "They stole me, just like they stole you. Just like you will be gone in a week. We have both failed. I was supposed to bring salvation and you destruction. Neither of shall ever succeed."

"Please, just calm down." I don't know who is speaking to me anymore.

"I won't calm down. I can never calm down again!"

We were running. Before that, I was with him. Snuck out of my room, snuck to the opposite end of the place with the aid of the Outsider working the computers. To see him one last time, in the early crack of the morning. To tell him what I was going to do.

"Our plan shall succeed."

He shakes his head. "Just listen to me. I know that this can work. I just need you to do your part and stay still for a minute."

"Just like you did your part?" I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for him to speak. He says nothing, since he knows what I know. Of course, he told no one, nor the others. I know though. After all, I was supposed to be her.

"I didn't know-"

"If you didn't know, you're either the dumbest fucking idiot I've ever met," at this I begin walking away from the boy, "or you are just as evil as her."

"Which of them are you talking about?" He asks it so carefully, I think he is surprised by the confidence in my response.

"Both of them."


	58. I'm blackmailing

57 Leo

"She's sedated," Jeff drops the syringe onto the ground, his hands shaking so quickly they begin to blur. "With a dose powerful enough to knock out Fry."

Somehow, I don't think it was enough.

"You good Lee?" Jeff places a hand on my shoulder, bringing me back to reality.

She looks pale, but at least she didn't have a seizure. Some sort of wild and rapid nervous breakdown, stemming from something in her head. Something I can't seem to stop. "What was she talking about?"

"The hallucinations are back, as it would seem," Clint sighs, wiping the sweat that is beginning to pool on his forehead. It is no hotter than normally in the room, although it feels like we are baking in an oven. At least it isn't just me who feels unbearably warm.

"She was having a conversation." Jeff notices, clinging on to me with all his strength.

Clint picks up the empty syringe, moving it back into the cupboard. He places it next to the yellow bottle of sedative, before closing the doors. "Yeah, with a hallucination."

"Should we update Alby?" Jeff asks slowly.

"No," Clint speaks with a certainty I've never heard him use before. "Nobody tells Alby what is happening. Not until I'm done running the tests."

"But if she is going to have another seizure-"

"Then we cross that bridge when we get there." Clint cuts me off, nodding towards me.

On a technical level he is my Keeper, so I know I should listen to him. He has more experience than I do, and he is more likely to find the best course of action and follow it. Despite this, I can't help but feel like I am disobeying Alby, and thereby the rules of the Glade. Wasn't I supposed to be in charge of the girls anyway? Or at least represent them?

"But-"

"Leo, that's final." Clint doesn't often come out on top of Jeff and I. Normally the two of them work as a unit, and I've been trying to figure out the way I fit between the pair. Now, however, it is clear that Clint is running the show. He decides who talks to who and what treatment we do and when we do it. "Until then, she's going to be in the Changing room. No one in or out except me. Got that Jeff?"

Jeff nods quietly, letting go of me and moving over to help Clint. This dynamic shift between them feels not only odd, but uncomfortable. Clint has a way of commanding people that doesn't sit well with me. Only a few weeks ago were they sitting around and doing inventory, yelling up and down the Homestead at each other. The two bicker like an old married couple. For the longest time, I thought of them as a unit.

Clint funny and charming, but quick to action. Jeff chatty and amused, always teasing anything insight. When it comes down to it though, Jeff is quiet and obedient while Clint is decisive and orderly.

When it comes down to it, I don't know what I am. For a long time, I thought I was useless and stressed. Looking at Ella's unconscious body only solidifies this fact. This is who I am.

"I should tell Alby," I begin, looking up at Clint. "Why are you giving her medical treatment behind his back?"

Jeff looks up at me, biting his lip. "Honestly Leo, just do what he says. He knows more about medicine than everyone in the Glade combined. If Clint says to do it, you do it."

"No," I step closer, moving towards the bed. "You're not moving her until I know what is happening."

"Leo," Clint is stern, but he pauses for a second. "We're going to keep her under observation. I'm not going to be exposing her to any drugs or treatment. I'll just be monitoring her in smaller doses. We put her under stress today. She had a fine reaction time, but it seemed like she couldn't' even make out Jeff. I don't know what's up with her, and only I can see her until I figure it out. Everything else seems to set her off."

"Why can't we just tell Alby that?" I cross my arms over my chest.

Clint scrunches his nose up, cracking his shoulders. "It's complicated Leo. Alby can't be trusted with everything."

"Remember when he rushed to have Michelle banished?" Jeff adds in quickly. "That's not the first time he's made rash calls you know. If he thinks Ella has memories for a second he might banish her."

Clint glares at Jeff, and I realise exactly what Clint has been thinking. Ella remembers. At least, that's his guess. That's why he doesn't want me to see her, or anyone else. She remembers me, from before all of this.

How much does she remember?

If Alby finds out, what will happen? He could have her banished, or maybe all of us girls. Perhaps they'll subject her to harsh experiments or question her like you would a war criminal. Which means I am going to say nothing until Clint knows. I'll stay out of his way and let him figure Ella out for himself.

"I can help you bring her," I say it quietly and I don't look Clint in the eye. Jeff was right, I should've just listened to him. Normally I don't really distrust others. I add trusting to the list of things I am. It's short so far, but hopefully within the coming weeks it'll get longer.

"We're fine," Clint remarks quickly. "Go see if you can check on Dawn. I want to see how she is healing up."

I nod, listening to him I guess. My feet leave the room, leave Ella, and I stand in the foyer of the Homestead. Dawn isn't going to want to talk to me. In fact, she hasn't talked to me in days. Why did she have to shut me out? Why won't she tell me exactly what is going on?

Newt pops in the room. He was in love with Alby. I found that out not quite the last time we talked, but quite recently. He understands how I must feel. Why didn't it work out between the two of them?

Probably for the same reason nothing works out here anyway.

"We've got a bit of a problem." He remarks, his hands twitching at his sides. "By a little bit, I mean a bit of a big problem. I don't, shuck Leo..."

"Like, a medical problem?" I ask. It's never easy to tell with Newt. Perhaps Minho and Dawn were caught, or perhaps Michelle got in another fight.

"Yes?" Klunk. That's not a question he should be asking. Things like that should be absolute. "We're a bit tangled up in the Deadheads if you'll follow me."

He gestures for me to exit the Homestead. I move next to him, and when I try to ask him a question he shakes his head.

"Not here, in the open." He moves towards the wall, walking along it. He takes us closer to the Deadheads, slyly moving past the West door. It's obvious he is trying to hide us.

"What am I walking into?" I ask in a hushed tone.

He glances around for Gladers before answering me. "Minho came back an hour before the doors closed today."

The doors aren't supposed to close for another half an hour. Alby's been cracking down on timing since Stephen died. Instead of having to be back half an hour before the doors close, boys are supposed to be back 45 minutes prior. It's not weird for Minho to not respect Alby's new time slot; he's been coming back the usual half an hour early since Stephen's death although he has insisted everyone else adheres to Alby's deadline. However, Minho being early is practically unheard of, even if it's only by fifteen minutes.

"Was he hurt?" I ask, as Newt places a finger against his lips.

He shrugs carefully as we walk into the Deadheads. "Not in the Maze."

"Why isn't he in the Homestead?" I ask it quietly. "Aren't there Baggers in here?"

There is no use to an element of secrecy if those shucking Baggers are here to listen in.

"Most of the Baggers have other jobs. Step in as Baggers when their job is required. Billy is the only one who does it full time, since he's the Keeper. I think he called it in a couple of hours ago, as he usual does." Newt talks with a little more volume, but not with anything substantial. "We're probably safe in here."

He rounds a corner, and I spot Minho. He sits on the ground leaning against a tree, his shirt soaked through, with what I can't tell is water or sweat. He's been running all day though, so I wouldn't be surprised. This is not a sight I expected to see. Neither is Michelle who stands next to him. I can't tell if the blood which stains her clothing is new or old, but regardless the sight is not a pretty one. It matches her hair, but appears in dots splattered across her.

"What the shuck did you do Minho?" I move closer to Michelle, dragging him away from Minho. She pulls her hands out of my reach as I attempt check her skin for bruises. "What is this?"

"It's not what you think," Newt steps up to me, blocking me from Minho. "Shuck, I don't know what to do."

"Isn't it?" I attempt to lurch past Newt, but he holds me firmly. Leaning over his shoulder, I stare Minho down. "So what, you think Michelle beat up Dawn so now you're just going around bashing up innocent Gladers? Are you a shucking idiot?"

"He didn't hit me slinthead." Michelle's voice is firm, and I still in my struggle against Newt. He holds on to me for a second, before letting go and moving to my side.

"What?"

"Wasn't him," she tells me.

"Who did this then?" I ask. Michelle ignores me in most situations, and this one proves no different. I stand, staring, waiting for a response from her. She only turns her head.

"Look, I should get going."

"You aren't going anywhere until we sort this out." It is in this second that I understand why Newt is second-in-command. He may not have a good time when discovering bodies, nor when overhearing Gladers breaking the rules, but under pressure he doesn't crack. He knows exactly how to make decisions and doesn't second guess himself for even a second.

I need to add that to the listen of things I need to be. Gone are the days of panic. Now I must be calm and still.

"What happened?" I ask.

"It was Ben," Minho finally looks up from his lap. His eyes are bloodshot when they meet mine. I doubt he slept last night. "That injured Runner." He doesn't need to clarify that to me. I know who Ben is.

"So what, He attacked Michelle?" I ask, although it doesn't fit. What are the odds Minho was walking around the Deadheads minding his own klunk, and he stumbled upon Ben hurting Michelle.

I'm not surprised Ben attacked her though. He's the one who lurched for her on our first night here after all.

"And Dawn." His voice cracks at the thought. Michelle only tightens the fist she is balling at her side, her face a glowing red nearly as bright as her hair. "I followed him in here when I saw the circle on his nose. Looked like a bite mark anyway, so I thought-"

"I had it under control." Michelle growls through her teeth.

"That's hardly the point," Newt cuts in quickly. "We have a problem. Ben is beaten up, and Alby's cracking down after the Baggers tried to get Michelle banished. No tolerance for violence, and we just had a three-way fight."

No one bothers to say why he did it. Which I don' think is fair. This was self-defence. Would Alby still banish Michelle? "He can't banish them."

"He might," Newt offers. "It's not like he'll believe Michelle didn't start this."

"It's not just the violence," Minho adds. "He has more over me than I have on him. It's not just me I'm worried about."

Ben knows. He knows about Minho and Dawn. This is bad, really bad. Bad enough that the panic itching at the back of my mind. Ben is going to snitch, and they are going to be banished. The self-defence isn't the problem. That would be fine, for everyone but Michelle.

Dawn and Minho are going to get caught now, and that will result in banishment, no doubt.

I knew this would happen. This must've been why I hated Minho. Not because of some weird jealousy, possessive thing. He's going to get Dawn killed.

They rat on Ben, and he rats back.

"Is he going to snitch?" I ask.

Newt doesn't answer me. In fact, he avoids my eyes all together. Minho, again, shrugs. This can't be happening.

"Why?" I ask, although the answer is pretty clear. "If he snitches, you'll snitch back and he'll be banished."

"Ben's reckless," Minho shakes his head. "I've been running with him long enough to know. He doesn't care if he goes down with us."

"Shuck, I don't care if they all get a day in the Slammer, but this isn't a day in the Slammer. This is banishment." Newt turns his head towards me.

So that's it then?

"Alby won't cut me any breaks anyway," Michelle turns to face me finally. "Minho maybe, since he was helping me and he's a shucking Keeper. But Ben'll say I instigated the fight, and I'll go down too."

She doesn't know about Minho and Dawn yet. This is a shucking mess. Ben attacked multiple girls, so he's going down no matter what. Michelle hit him back, and even if she didn't Alby isn't going to cut her any breaks. Dawn and Minho, on the other hand, are going to go down in the fight since they've been doing whatever it is they are doing. Are they just seeing each other, or are they shacking it up?

I've got enough on my plate without worrying about baby Gladers.

"So, the three of us will be banished." When Minho emphasizes three Michelle stiffens. As if she is catching his drift. As if when he says three he means four.

"There's no stopping it?" I demand. Why do I have to be privy to Dawn's up and coming demise? Maybe they want me to tell her. I couldn't ever. No part of me wants to watch her break; to tell her she is going to die. "I don't have a vote on the council you know. I can't help you."

"Minho had a crazy shuck idea," Newt sighs. "I don't like it.

"We can't report, so we need you to please Ben." Minho cuts off Newt, staring me down.

I don't like the way this is going. After my conversation with Clint, I find myself having to agree we can't report. It's not just their paranoia. Alby's on edge and everyone knows it. We've got to make sure Ben doesn't rat.

Don't know that I like the word please though.

"How?" I almost throw up. "Wait, do you mean physically? You want me to shack him?"

"That's the dumbest shuck thing you've ever said," Minho is angry both at the suggestion and at Ben's existence. His skin goes red at the idea of forcing me to shack the guy. "Ben wants to go back to being a Runner. He doesn't look too banged up. Only a bruised jaw and I bet a concussion."

"Unfortunately," Michelle interjects.

"Where do I fit in?"

"You're a Med-jack," Minho begins. "You can clear him to go back in the Maze. He's supposed to go in soon. Not tomorrow but the next day."

"Obviously his head is a little jacked," Michelle begins, "since Minho couldn't bloody help himself to smashing the shanks head off the ground."

"You would've done the same thing," Minho cuts her off.

"No," she corrects him, words firing out her mouth, "if I'd've done it, he'd not be getting back up any shucking time soon."

"Point is," Newt's voice manages to calm the group, "you can let him be a Runner again. And maybe we can pretend this didn't happen. As long as those two shanks can bloody handle their shuck selves, we're good."

"That'll please him enough not to get you banished?" I ask, staring at them all. "Seriously?"

"Ben hates those shucking Builders," Minho finally stands up, though his knees shake. He manages to smile for a minute. "Can't blame him though. Every time I interact with those shanks trouble follows.

Michelle scoffs, "good that."

"I don't want to reward him, but I don't see how else we can get out of this shucking mess. I'll tell him tomorrow that he's good to start running in two days, instead of the projected three weeks to heal, he might listen," Minho begins. "Give him anything he wants for the next little bit. Drinking privileges, special meals, all that stuff. He might listen."

Michelle will talk Gally into letting Ben drink, and Dawn can do the meals. All that's left is getting him back in the Maze.

"I don't do the treatments," I quickly correct. "Clint is going to have to clear him, and he'll see the concussion from a mile away."

"I'm sure you can shucking convince him." Michelle looks down at her nails, her nose crinkled as if being around us is somehow disgusting.

What the shuck does she mean, I can convince him?

If she means convince him sexually, she's got Clint pegged all wrong. I know exactly how to convince Clint. It's not exactly convince so much as it is blackmail, and the thought makes the food I last ate, early hours in the morning, turn sour in my stomach. Especially since if he disagrees, Ella could find herself in hot water.

Although, if he doesn't, four people get banished for certain.

I sigh, blowing a strand of hair out of my face. "Shuck."


	59. I'm pissed

58 Dawn

Everyone is gone. I don't mean everyone, of course, since Frypan sits around the fire with Dave and Frankie. A bunch of the Builders and Track-hoes are mingling and talking too.

Although all I really wanted to do was talk to Minho. He isn't anywhere to be found though. I never saw him come through the Doors but I assume he did at some point or another, given that no one was waiting at the Doors for him to come back.

Clint is peeking over at me, from where he stands. Jeff is rambling on to him about something or another unimportant. Ignoring this, Clint continues to look at me as if he is analysing me.

I stand up, walking away from where I sit. If Clint wants to talk to me, he can. I have no need to let him stare at me over and over.

The further I walk, the further I move away from the Slammer. It bothers me, that place. I mean, it bugged me when I was in there and I saw Michelle's blood all over the walls. Now, all I can think about is Ben.

He didn't touch me. He didn't kiss me, and he didn't get what he wanted. Maybe that's why I'm not as upset as I should be. Maybe I saw it coming. What was I expecting, being here? Did I think he was just walking around at night trying to have a chat with me?

I feel my fist tightening into a ball. I'm angry. Mostly at myself, but also at him and at everyone else here who keeps staring at me.

"I got the message," I turn around.

There he is, standing behind me. His nose is swelling dark purple, not just around the bite marks. His skin, a terrible colour which stains the skin above his lip a deep red, is puffy, and his eyes seem to be blackening in bags. His chin is a deeper purple as well, dark and horrible.

I don't know what he is talking about. "Get away from me." My voice trembles in ways I do not expect. He makes me feel so very small.

"Sending people to beat me up isn't really going to do you much help anyway." He looks straight at me, eyes burning. "I could tell Alby, and then you'll all be shucking banished for sure."

"So will you," at this he stiffens.

I may not know him, but he is easy to figure out. Ben is self-centered. A preservationist at his core, he is not going to die just to spite me and Minho. His threat was not idle, since he thought there'd be no proof he had done something wrong. Now, you can clearly see on his nose I left my mark.

There is a difference between what is wrong and what is punishable. It is wrong to yell terrible slurs at others, but I hear Gally do it everyday to the boys who work for him without repercussions. Ben attempting to hurt me is both wrong and banish able. Minho and I, though we are breaking the rules, have done nothing wrong. It can never be wrong to care for someone else.

I would not rat on Ben as both he and I have done punishable offenses, even though I have done nothing wrong.

"Just shucking call off your dog," he turns to walk away, although he calls over his shoulder, "or I'll call on mine."

When he is gone, I can breathe lighter. Why is it so hard to exist when he is around?

Where is Minho and what did he do?

I move forward, towards the map room. The Runners have been out of there for a while, which means if Minho's in there he's been in there for a shucking long time. It also means no one will see me sneak in.

The door is locked, as it normally is. I peek inside, through the cracks in the wood (the room is poorly built since its only purpose is housing the maps) and see no one. Where could Minho be?

"I said I didn't need your help," Michelle's voice distracts me, and I turn to see her shoving off Leo as they both exit the Deadheads.

What are they doing together?

Leo stands still as Michelle brushes her off. When Michelle runs away, I'm not surprised that Leo doesn't follow. Slowly moving behind her, Minho and Newt whisper in hushed voices. What the Hell were they all doing in there? And what did Minho shucking do to Ben?

I storm closer, my feet guiding me. It almost feels like I am out of body. Did Minho hit Ben? What was he thinking? He could've gotten us both killed.

Leo is the first one notices me coming, and she lightly taps Newt's shoulder. In turn, Newt flicks Minho. He doesn't take notice, or if he does he doesn't care since he is so busy talking.

I grab his arm, forcing him to spin around and see me. When he does, I see his face fall, piece by piece. He knows I've found him out.

"What were you shucking thinking?" I demand, and though I wish to sound angry I sound scared. I can't tell if it is my hands that tremble or my fingertips.

"It's not what you think," it's Newt who pipes in, and my glare silences the boy mid-thought.

Minho tries to clear his throat, but it only tightens when he faces me. I am burning. Doesn't he realise the position he has put himself in. That he has put me in? What happens when people start asking why Ben has a bruised face?

His gaze doesn't leave me though he talks to the two next to him. "Maybe give us a second..."

"He has a shucking broken nose." I cut them off, trying to sound serious. Trying to sound in control of the panic. I'm not some deranged girl who needs to be hidden. Besides, I don't care what I sound like to them. I only care for my own sake.

"You did what?" Newt jumps in. "How are we going to play that off? I thought you roughed him up a bit."

"You both knew?" I turn to stare at Newt and Leo.

While she looks frozen, stuck knowing she has been caught doing something bad, Newt just looks exasperated. He isn't apologising to me, but joins me in my frustration against Minho.

Minho freezes, turning to face me. He shrugs, exasperated. "I didn't even hit him in the face."

"Alby's going to launch an investigation Min," Newt throws his hands up in anger. "I didn't sign up for this much trouble. You're lucky I don't have tell him."

"Honestly why would you hit him at all?" I ask. "Why couldn't you leave well enough alone? He was going to back off."

"He attacked Michelle," finally Leo pipes in.

I look at her. Of course, she can't lie, so I know she is being honest.

"Did..." I can't form a sentence. "Did he..."

"You know Michelle," Leo's voice is low, and there is almost a tinge of laughter.

Of course he didn't. Michelle doesn't give a damn about the consequences, and she is very violent. Was it her that broke Ben's nose? That would make so much more sense than Minho having any part in this.

"I pulled him off her before he could even touch her," Minho looks down at the ground, almost ashamed of his heroism.

Of shucking course he did. "Oh for shuck's sake Min."

Everyone is quiet. No one can find words, or at least I can't. Too much is happening. Am I angry at Minho for fighting Ben? Am I mad that Ben attacked Michelle? Am I upset no one told me klunk?

The only thing that could make this worse is if the Cooks were in on it too. Then I really would've been betrayed by everyone.

"Now what?" Newt asks it, looking to Leo for an answer.

Leo shrugs, confused. "I mean, I don't know if I can convince Clint to let him in the Maze now, but I can try."

"Why do you want him running?" I demand. "So what, we reward him for what he's done?"

"Would you rather get banished?" Minho's voice is low and steady. he isn't trying to challenge me or start an argument. Simply, he wants to convince me.

"No," obviously not. "Still though. There's got to be something we can do."

"We wait," Newt says it plainly. "I'm sure someone is going to snitch to Alby today. We'll probably have a Gathering at night, or something. I don't know. I would've if Min hadn't told me the whole story."

"We've got to play it safe," Leo looks at Minho and I plainly. "You two can't be in contact for the next little bit. Same goes for Michelle."

"I doubt that'll be a problem." I roll my eyes.

"We're serious," Newt continues.

Klunk. Someone must've told him. Although I don't know who, nor when that could've happened. This isn't the moment to ask, I don't think. I don't particularly care who knows, so long as we aren't about to be banished.

In my ideal world, everyone would know.

"Sure," I agree even though I'm already ready to break that promise. Looking at Minho, I can see his shock in my complicity. I don't want to get Leo wrapped up in this, and though I barely know Newt, I don't want him to go down for me and Minho. It's best if for now, I tell them I won't see Minho.

Leo waits for Minho's response, staring at him with her head cocked to the side. Minho nods up and down, looking at me then back at newt and Leo.

"Yeah, gotcha shank."

Neither of them are mad at us anymore. It's odd, since Leo was less than happy when she found out Minho and I were together. Now, she doesn't blame me. She doesn't even seem resigned to the reality of the situation. She is accepting it for what it is, and moving forward.

I can't help but thinking this is Newt's doing. Like I said, I barely know the guy, but he has a handle on situations. He is emotional and vulnerable, unlike Alby, but he seems to always be able to come up with an answer. He has a plan that might work.

My plan would've been to do nothing. I guess Minho didn't have plan either, and he just got caught up in the moment. Michelle might've hurt Ben, maybe even brought him to his death. Alby would want to vote, and follow the rules since he loves them so much. Prior to talking to Newt, I imagine Leo's plan would've been to play it safe; keep quiet and feign ignorance.

Now though, she seems confident in asserting herself.

"To recap," she pauses as she tries to sort through the thoughts in her head. "Dawn fell off the wall while climbing four nights ago and Michelle saw her?"

I nod. We're sticking to that part of the story. If we don't rat on Ben he can't rat on us.

"Minho was with me last night," Newt looks over at Leo.

"That only works if no one knows where you were," Minho cuts her off.

"He was with me," Leo cuts in. "We were discussing Ella's condition. She was making a good recovery..."

Was? "What happened?"

Leo shakes her head. She doesn't need to speak for me to get that it is a long story. One I shouldn't ask her tonight if I want her to keep it all together. Newt looks over at Leo, closing his mouth. The way he squints makes it look like he's wincing for her.

Ella can't be dead; I'd have heard by now. I don't know why I care, I barely know her. It's not like Newt who I barely know though. There is a feeling attaching the two of us that I can't describe or remember. I need to make sure she is okay.

I'll have to visit her soon. Or, at least, find a way to find her.

"Doesn't matter," Minho cuts in, since no one else can seem to talk. "I was with Newt last night. Michelle can find her own alibi."

Will she? She doesn't seem to have many friends. "I can say I was with Michelle, if push comes to shove. I was free."

"Don't get yourself tangled up in this anymore than you need to," it comes from a place of concern, but I shrug Minho off.

"If we are in this, we are in this together. Right?"

He doesn't nod, but he doesn't disagree either. Minho only breathes. Leo does nod though, glancing up at me and Newt, though she still angles her head towards the ground. Newt can't seem to take his eyes off her, but he answers me.

"As long as we stick together, we will be good."

I can't help but think he might be wrong.


	60. I'm totally done

59 Michelle

I hate the sun. I hate living in this small little confined space. I hate those girls, I hate the Keepers, I hate the Builders, and overall, this place can shucking shove it.

"You seem angry," David remarks, beside me.

I thought he'd be in the kitchen, since the Builders are off today and tomorrow. Actually, I'm the only one who hasn't found something useful to do, as far as I can tell. A bunch of Builders are helping with repairs on buildings and stuff, and helping the Bricknicks organize their crap.

Gally had asked me to help him look over the sheets for the next building project. Claimed I had a natural eye for seeing flaws, or something else shucking ridiculous. Gally gets support systems; he understands wooden planks lined up together to make it as strong as possible. Dave is here because he gets embellishments. Drywalling, framing doors, roofing. It all makes sense in his head anyway.

I don't really even get what I'm looking at.

"I can't even tell that this is schematics," I turn the paper 90 degrees. Maybe I'm looking at it from the wrong angle.

David turns the paper on its head, pointing at the signature on the bottom. "Gally's scrawl is messy, but this is the proposal."

It has taken us about two and a half weeks to build the newest room on to the house; a task which isn't even supposed to be difficult. All it was, was putting up boards and such. When you have a crew of about ten guys, it should go by quicker I imagine.

"It's going to be an addition on to the bathroom," he notes, pointing at the tiny cubbies Gally scratched onto the page. "For you girls only. Probably so you can shower in peace."

I don't need to shower in peace. What we need, is to get out of this tiny Glade. There is nothing but suffering coming from these Walls anyway. Being here is not safe, and I don't like it one little bit.

"No but seriously, why're you pissed?" He asks, leaning in closer to me. His face doesn't approach mine, so I don't have to worry about him kissing me again.

I can trust Dave, right?

I almost scoff at the thought. What am I going off about? Trust, as if it's even a good idea. When has that gotten me anywhere? I trusted Leo to help me, and I almost got banished. It was Gally who's vote helped me, and it was Dave who told them he gave me the screwdriver.

So in a way, I can trust David. He's already stopped me from being banished once.

"Gally doesn't like the girls," I tell him.

David shrugs, looking up at me from the sheet of paper. His hand rests on the chair behind me, so he is completely turned to face me. "And?"

"And?" I ask. "He thinks Leo and Dawn are up to something."

"I take it you don't," confusion fuddles his brow.

I do? Or maybe I don't, but I saw the way Dawn approached Minho, Newt and Leo when we left the Deadheads. Whatever they were talking about, it was a big deal.

And I remember thinking to myself, why exactly did Minho care so much that Ben hurt Dawn? And why did he follow Ben into the forest anyway? How did he know someone hurt her? I figured, the obvious answer, that there is some truth to the rumours involving the two of them.

And perhaps, the rumours involving Leo and Alby weren't true. I could see Newt looking at her. Either Leo is an oblivious idiot, or she is cunning and leading him on. At the moment, I can't tell which is more likely.

"I think I know what happened to Dawn," his eyes light up at my words. He knows she was hurt; practically the whole Glade knows now. However, he took her place in the Kitchen, so he knows first-hand that whatever happened was bad enough she can't shucking bake. From what I gather, kitchen work is easy enough too.

"Tell Alby then," David is quick to jump in.

Is he shucking nuts? "Thanks for that advice. I'm not getting eight people banished."

His eyes only widen more. I can hear his breathing become heavier, if only slightly. It makes me feel uncomfortable, as if I am in tune with his body as well as mine. I'd say David was blowing this out of proportion, but he's not.

So, who exactly could get banished?

Me, certainly. Ben, Minho, and if I think what is happening is happening, Dawn, Leo, and Newt are joining in on that group. Which, honestly, is quite a few people.

I mean, maybe also David if one of them knew he kissed me. So, seven and not actually eight, but that's still a shuck ton.

"You're serious?"

I mean, I could tell him he could also be banished, but I don't want him to freak out anymore than he already is. I don't need anymore panic. If I'm honest, I realistically can't handle the panic that is already infecting his body and taking over. I can feel it from here. He and Leo should throw a shucking party.

"There is no way Alby is going to banished eight people." He shakes his head carefully.

"Minimum three," I'm sure if word gets out, I am one of the three who is being banished. Minho, Ben and I are all going down for what happened to Dawn. I think anyway.

"Are you one of those three?"

When I nod, he practically leaps out of his chair. "What happened?"

I don't know what to say. "I think someone is with Dawn."

"Like, they are shacking?" I've never heard the word before, but I assume it means exactly what I said. So I nod, and David's voice only raises.

I'm glad we are in the room where the Gatherings happen. After all, David is causing a bit of a scene. Nobody comes in here except the Keepers the rest of the time anyway. Maybe somebody sleeps in here, or something, but nobody shucking sleeps in the middle of the day.

"So what, the guy she is shacking hurt her and you hurt him back?" He asks. His eyes widen. "Has Dawn been shacking Ben? He's such a slinthead, I thought she'd know and do better."

"No, she hasn't." I begin, confused. "You think Ben is responsible?"

"He's got a shucking broken nose, and a shucked up jaw," Dave remarks. "Haven't you noticed him hanging around?" I suppose I have, but I knew his jaw got chucked when Minho hit him.

"Trust me, I noticed." I begin, and Dave pretty much slams his palms into his face.

"You beat someone else up?"

No, not me. But also, who is to say it wasn't me. I mean, both Minho and I will probably blame each other, and Ben will blame both of us.

"Doesn't matter," I brush him off, because there is no sense in arguing. I just hit another one of the Builders a few days ago, so why wouldn't I have hit Ben? Especially given Ben deserved it way more than Doug. "I think I should tell Gally."

David laughs. Like genuinely laughs, but in a way that makes the sound laced in anger and disbelief. It's not one that is comforting, but what that scares me deep into my bones. "Seriously? Gally doesn't shucking... he doesn't... he doesn't shucking give a klunk about you."

He trails off as he attempts to catch his breath and I flinch away. What is he going off about?

"He'll get you banished as soon as he'd get the rest of them banished, no pause no hesitation." He continues, shaking his head. "Like, are you shucking kidding me."

"He would not." I counter, crossing my arms. "We're a team."

David stills, and the room goes silent. This is scary. The lack of sound makes me think it's really. David isn't blowing up and screaming and fighting. His voice is quiet and calm, and I know he is serious.

"Gally doesn't care about you, he doesn't care about anything that isn't him. He selfish and pathetic and cruel-"

I push past David, but he grabs hold of me, "-and he doesn't give a shuck if you drop dead. He doesn't really care about you, not like-"

"Like what?" I rip myself out of David's hand, and he bounces back. "Like you do?"

David shakes his head. He reaches for me but his fingers shake. "No, it's not... I mean it is, but that's not why... There is more to this than you. Gally and I have a complicated history."

I turn away from him, and he grabs me. "Look, like seriously Michelle. Look at me."

I don't struggle and I don't know why.

"Yeah, I like you. I'd be stupid not to like you, alright? You've got no idea how hard it is to watch you waste your time on him. It's not because of you I dislike him. Gally is a bad person, who means bad news. It's a complicated story; I can't get into it now. All I can tell you, is that I care about you. He doesn't care about you at all. He doesn't care about anything except himself."

He doesn't kiss me, and I am thankful.

The door creaks open, and Gally is standing there. "What's happening?"

David pauses, and doesn't say anything. I don't see his expression because I am looking at Gally. Jaw dropped, eyes wide; he seems confused at the sudden calmness in the room, or perhaps it at my heaving chest. Maybe even, it is at the beat red colour of my face.

"Nothing," I shrug out of David's arm, moving into the hall.

Gally follows after me, but he doesn't shut the door.

"What was going on in there?" He asks, grabbing my arm from behind me.

Why does everyone keep grabbing me?

I spin to see Gally, staring at me. He seems more confused than concerned, his brows furrowed. Maybe he seems a little angry.

I can see David over his shoulder, leaning out the door. He is staring at me, concerned or lonely, or maybe he is just obsessed with me.

Shuck him.

I pull Gally towards me, knowing full well David can see us, and I kiss him.


	61. I'm not here

60 Ella

I need to tell them.

Creep down the stairs, which are stairs but also smoke collapsing in on itself. Pray to God you won't be found, by the grey boys or the smoke man. Look for the green girl. She's in the room with the other people in charge. They whisper about things that do not matter. Hear them if you try, or do not, for it doesn't matter. Nothing matters.

We are running out of time.

He comes. Four horsemen of the apocalypse sleeping before arriving. Then afterwards, so will she. She will be here and she must be stopped. You must warn them, right?

You are not a banshee, contrary to popular belief. Listen to your heart. You're heart. Thunk, thunk, thunk. Is that your feet on the floor, or the organ in the chest? Does it matter, for you are your heart.

Their voices are a symphony of chaos. Boy beaten, not yet banished because of a lack of proof. A girl beaten, not banished either. Are they fighting? Is it retaliation? Are they being targeted?

All of this is true, but they are all wrong.

Help. I'm bringing it. Violet girl, you see me for who I am. I love you, like the green loves the blue, and the red loves the red, and the grey loves the grey, and the smoke man loves destruction. You see what I am doing for you, yes? What you have forgotten is my fault. I can protect she who is not you no better than I can save you.

A meeting, a series of interrogations, and no one trusts anyone. What plan is this? Turning on each other does nothing to protect from the imminent threat of destruction. I want those damn memories back you fucking asshole. I can see through this. I know what year it is smoke man, you son of a bitch. The words you told me to forget, I have them in another language too. And another.

I want them back, and I will die before I let you send that boy up here with prepared Gladers.

Green is talking, or something. Time, we need more of it. She agrees.

Next step, you listen in. Or try to listen in. You can see colours in the clouds. Don't notice you have no hands or fingers or substance. Pretend that you are tangible, because you know they live in a tangible world.

Violet girl, we will escape and be together once more. I shan't lose you again. No shucking way are you going to be gone. I want you, like want you like I want salvation and air and voice and soul and freedom and memories and truth and to actually fucking see what exactly is going on in this room because I feel trapped in a world that is built to be destroyed by me and you and all the boys behind the door who can't, or won't, understand exactly what I am trying to explain to them because the smoke man has filled their minds with fog and my eyes with haze and I just want to go home.

Home is in the arms of you, violet girl.

I stumble through the door, or push or shove or whatever word is accurate to describe that I am attempting to fight this but I have no success. Maybe they are still talking, maybe they are not, but I only see smoke and a bit of green, hanging in the air.

I charge for it, or fall, or at the very least move towards it with much effort but little grip.

"It's going to be over soon," I tell them. "I remember. I know what the smoke man did. He stole your colour, and now there's a new player coming."

The energy tenses, all the colours becoming murkier and blurring into each other. "We were running, and you, you picked the lock, because you loved like I did, and couldn't lose her either. I've failed, but I won't again. I tell you, they are watching us. They have white pens, and they write down what we are doing."

I lurch forward, and everything is suddenly black. "You have to trust me."

It's gone. I'm in a room, and there are many people standing up. Hands up, scared. Scared of me.

How did I get here?

I should tell them about the newcomer, but they wouldn't believe me. I guess, if they did it wouldn't matter. They already think I'm crazy since I keep having seizures. I think so anyway. I don't know where I am. Is this a meeting.

"Ella," there is a boy whose hand is on my shoulder.

I'm Ella. That's my name. "Yes."

"Listen to Clint, El," there is a brunette in the corner, moving closer to me slowly. "Go back to bed."

The boy next to her grabs hold of her, to prevent her from moving closer. He has blonde hair, and eyes just like hers. Eyes which remind me of long nights, lonely conversations, and lost memories.

I breathe in, trying to digest it. "You look like the violet girl."


	62. I'm alone

61 Leo

"Why are you awake?"

After that meeting, I could never speak again. It was almost as if she couldn't see us, or hear us. Ella is slipping away. After Clint put her to bed, people started to talk. Of course, I couldn't stop them. I can't stop much.

The thought made me so nauseous I couldn't eat dinner. Although, I've been skipping meals a lot lately. I almost feel like I am wasting away.

"After that?" I respond, curling up against the door. My voice is quiet, the sounds drowning in my throat. "How could I sleep?"

"Clint explained to them her hallucinations," Newt sat down next to me. "How it's hysteria, and not as though she actually remembers anything. No one is going to banish her."

I hope not. The thought haunts me. I don't know if she remembers anything or not. Although I am at least a bit desensitized to threat of banishment, it hangs over my head. It isn't likely this will get Ella banished, nor is it likely she will die from this pain.

My fears with Michelle and Dawn are founded though. They are in danger.

"Did you talk to Clint?"

There is about three feet between myself and Newt. The space feels to wide. I glance over at him, noticing he is looking back. His face grimaces, since he knows the answer.

"No," I tell him quickly. "But he'll definitely listen now."

"Why?"

Should I just openly tell Newt I'm planning on blackmailing Clint? I can't risk it, since Newt could tell Ella. I couldn't get her banished. It's not that I don't trust Newt, or I mean, I guess I don't. I don't trust anyone when someone's life is on the line.

"If there is some fight going on, he'll want to put a stop to it." I am lying through my teeth, and I can't tell if Newt knows. "So, I mean, he might approve it quicker."

Newt shrugs. "If you say so."

We share a silence. It's comfortable, being on the wooden floor in the cold, with him. There is something about sharing the way we breathe. Our chests rise and fall together. Newt and I find a pace which we share. Everything about us seems to fit together.

Which kind of sucks, since I'm mangled and broken.

"Do you think Dawn and Minho are going to stay apart?" I ask, since I highly doubt it.

He laughs a bit, smiling. I can't help but join him. The grin fills my cheeks and my skin, although it burns my lips. It seems wrong, but with him it feels right. He makes it seem like all the problems of the world are jokes. "No way are they going to separate."

"They might," I suggest, although I know they won't.

He shakes his head, chuckling. It is infectious. Here we are, sitting on the floor in the dark, with only a candle on the stairs lighting the air, laughing at our friends doing dangerous things. Or at least, I'm trying.

"No, they won't." He bites his lips as he fully turns his body towards me. "Minho has never once listened to me."

"Really?" Now I'm curious. I still let my head rest against the wall, my back pressed against it.

"Here," he gets up, running out of the room. I find myself standing up, looking after him. I take a step forward but hear him call out after me. "Just wait."

He darts up the stairs, and I can hear his feet moving around up above me. They are quiet for a few seconds, before they become booming, running down the stairs he finds himself next to me. He nearly knocked the candle over on his way down.

"Here," Newt hands me one of the two glasses he has in his hands. They are filled with brown, which is what I assume to be Gally's drink.

"Seriously?" I ask, holding up the liquid. "You want to get shucked-faced at two am?"

"Three am," he corrects, glancing at his watch, "and if I am going to tell this story, we both need to be a little shucked."

He raises it to his lips, and I follow suit. I pound down the liquid, almost choking on its strong taste. I cough as soon as I am done, looking up at him as I wipe the dribble on my lips.

"That was nuts."

"That was the strongest stuff," he tells me. "Any more and trust me, you won't be getting up before lunch."

Noted.

He sits down on the floor, dropping the glass next to him. I do the same, although I do it more carefully than him. Normally, Newt and I don't hang out. I mean, we talk casually and chat I guess, but we don't have fun like this. Not this late, not this shucked, and not without the weight of some impending doom, and even though we are talking about Minho and Dawn's relationship, the conversation feels so lighthearted. So, unnatural. I'm not sure how to breathe in this clean air.

"Where was I?" He asks, since I guess he was distracted.

"Minho never listens to you..." I offer and he looks up.

"Oh right," Newt begins, a smile creeping up on his face. "When we first got here, I told Minho not to go in the Deadheads. Told him we didn't know what was in there. Thought it could be as dangerous as the Maze, but did he listen? No."

"What happened?" I ask.

He chuckles, leaning forward towards me as he does so. "Poison ivy."

"You're kidding," I didn't know we had that. "Seriously?"

He nods up and down, laughing as he speaks. "It was so funny, Lee. He was scratching for a week. We had to clear the whole forest 'cause of him. It was before any medical supplies had been sent up too. Poor shank. Right from the get go, I knew he'd be trouble."

They've been here for a long time. Half of them have been here some odd two years, and I know Newt is one of them. Most of the Keepers are, actually. I wonder how exactly they all went and got their order. The whole system seems a bit complicated.

"He used to sneak into the kitchen after running and steal food." Newt nods at the door. "I knew bloody better, but did he listen to me? Never. The slinthead didn't realise Fry had caught on. Before the week was over Min got salmonella."

"I didn't think Fry was that hardcore," I remarked.

Newt squints at me. "You never get between him and his Kitchen, let me tell you. Minho didn't rat on him, since Min was the one stealing food anyway. Both of them would've been thrown in the Slammer."

"Why bother telling Dawn and Minho to stay apart then?"

"I thought Dawn would've listened to you?"

I roll my eyes at his naivete. "Please, nobody tells her what to do. She climbs the shucking Walls if you turn your back. You saw her run into that Maze."

"Good that," Newt voice calms, before he laughs again. It's not ridiculously hard, but enough that it surprises me.

"What's so funny?" I can't help but feel myself giggling along. Like I said, his amusement is highly contagious. I can't tell if it is him or the drink that makes me smile.

"I was just thinking about the shucking mess we've gotten into," he shakes his head back and forth. "I mean, you and I haven't done anything wrong. As far as I can tell from you, anyway."

I raise my hands up in defense, as if to show him my hands are clean. It's something I do naturally, without really comprehending the meaning. Newt, at least, seems to get it.

"I take a bit of pride in that," he begins, "because if I bloody wanted, you could bet I'd be tearing it up."

"You, a bad boy?" I shake my head, playfully rolling my eyes. "No way."

"Ah, you underestimate me Greenie," he doesn't normally call me that, but for some reason it makes me feel as if we are the kind of people who can play around with each other. "I could mess things up if I wanted."

I can't help but keep shaking my head. "No way, you care about the rules too much."

"I'd say the same about you," he remarks, "but you and I both are covering up two huge scandals right now. Banishable sandals."

I laugh, but don't have it in my heart to correct him. Scandals, not sandals. He just looks at me funny before continuing. "With the whole, fighting thing and romance thing. Two of Alby's biggest rules."

I guess he's right. Neither him and I give a shuck about the rules. Or, maybe we do, but we care about our friends more. "That might help explain why we are both drinking stolen drink."

"Gally will never notice," he tells me, "and if he does, he has a million other people he'll blame first. I guarantee, you and I are the last Gladers he'd accuse of that."

"Good that."

"My point is, you and I care more about other people than the rules." He tells me. "I mean, do I think Minho and Dawn shouldn't be together? No, not really. Do I think it's shucking dangerous, and they should stop? Yes."

I almost agree. Though I know Minho is good for her, part of me still wants her to not be with him. A part that I don't like. I'm not the person who thinks like that, or feels like that. It's just stupid, and unnecessary. I'm trying to be happy though, so I don't want to think about that.

"It's the whole banishing thing that makes me nervous," I tell him. "Like, as shucking stupid as it is, I think Michelle should be allowed to punch any shank she wants-"

"Why?" He asks, carefully.

"Because as far as I know, all of them so far have deserved it." I tell Newt, carefully.

"Good that," he nods. "I was right happy when you first got here and she socked Gally in the face."

I wish I had seen that. I was a bit preoccupied though, all with running for my life.

"I'm sorry she pushed you into the Box." When we first got here, Newt had helped me up. That all feels like so long ago, even though it wasn't even three weeks ago. "You didn't deserve that."

He shrugs, "I don't know. Maybe I did. I was staring a bit at you."

I can't tell if he means all of us, or just me. The thoughts swims in my skull, and I can't help the heat that warms my cheeks.

"Still," I try to speak, but I'm a bit flabbergasted. "You didn't deserve that."

He shrugs, leaning back against the wall. It's so very late, and I am so very tired, but I don't want to leave. I really like just being with Newt. In a way that makes me feel like I'm committing a betrayal, but I don't know what kind.

"Yeah, I guess not." He leans back again, and we are close. Really close. Closer than friends are normally at hours this late in the night. The moment has stilled, and I can feel my chest and his chest rising in sync.

If I wanted to, I could... I don't know.

In one sharp breath, I don't know if it is he or me who pulls away first, but he scoots backwards and I turn my head away.

"It's getting..."

"What time..."

We both stop talking, our words eating at each other in the echoing silence. This time, it's uncomfortable and it tears itself apart.

"I have to be up early for the announcement," when I glance up past my hair, I realise he is talking more to himself then me. Talking himself off the edge of a cliff, as the silence rings. For a few seconds, he doesn't move. We sit feet apart, the space only growing with time. Newt may be here with me, but he is alone.

He picks up his glass off the ground, leaving mine, as he scurries away.

When he walks up the stairs, I realise I am alone too.


	63. I'm infinitely small

62 Dawn

I wake up, early as I can, and look to see Minho but he is gone. Klunk.

I slip out of bed, tumbling onto the floor in a mess of sheets and hair. My butt hurts as it slams against the ground, my hair falling around me. I quickly pull on my jeans, searching the floor for my button up shirt, but I can't seem to find it.

I throw the covers back up on the bed, ruffling through the fabric. When I glance out the window, I notice the sun is about to rise.

Damn it. I can't leave shirtless, or at least in my only-a-tank-top current state of existing. However, if I don't leave soon it'll be bright out, and people will be able to see me crawling out the window.

I abandon my search, lifting my arms up to search the clothes Minho owns. The boys all have multiples of the same shirts but I am resigned to one shirt. The shirt doesn't bother me so much, since Fry and Frankie loaned me a few of theirs. It's the jeans that drive me nuts, since I can maybe wash them once a week.

I sent down a request this week for more clothes. Hopefully they should be arriving today.

It's too late to keep searching. I quickly give up, searching through Minho's clothes for anything I can wear. I pick up one of the many similar yet slightly different blue shirts he owns and throw it over my head. It doesn't look too different from mine, and so long as I keep it unbuttoned, people won't be able to tell it's not mine.

I can tell my hair is messy in the braid I have it in, but I don't pay much attention to the mess. I attempt to pull myself out of the window haphazardly, before practically face planting on the ground. There are boys gathering around the box hole, and I don't think any of them see me.

"You should hide better," Michelle shoves past me, and I can only glare at her.

I roll my eyes, turning to her as she turns around to smirk at me. No one else seems to have noticed besides Michelle. She never seemed like the gloating type, although I can't say I'm particularly surprised.

"You just wish you could get some," I joke with her, although I'm unsure why she is being so friendly.

She pauses, shaking her head at me with a smile playing on her lips. "You know, I think we got off on the wrong foot."

I'm not sure we were on a foot at all. Michelle doesn't really talk to me, or anyone I guess. All I know is that she's pretty violent, which I had no respect for.

But then Ben was there, and he attacked me. So maybe I do get it. After all, I did hit him in the face. From what Minho tells me, she didn't really go at Ben when he was all over her either.

When exactly was she violent anyway? When she didn't attack those Baggers? When she hit those guys when we first got here, since they were already trying to lock us up? When she hit Ben the first time, on the first night?

"Is there a bloody right foot?" I ask, not sure if I am referencing her or this place in general.

She shrugs, although she isn't quite sure what to say. Neither am I really. I always thought she was both paranoid, and very distant. Not quite Curly levels, but as if Michelle sees the world through tinted glasses.

"I get plenty," she circles back to the first topic, but I can't help but feel surprised.

"Really?" I ask, confused as to who might give her some. I get the feeling she is playing with me, but doesn't know how. "You know, I've shacked ten different shanks since I got here."

She scrunches her nose up for a second as she thinks. I can't tell if she realises I'm kidding. I find myself moving away from her towards the gathering of boys as she slinks up behind me.

"Only ten?" She asks.

I stop dead in my tracks. Seeing her face confused confuses me. Every word seems foreign in her mouth, as if someone took them from a dictionary and placed them on her tongue. As if they sort of taste foul, or they are confusing.

"See, I did six this week alone," she continues, turning her nose up. When she tries to be playful, it is hard to understand her sarcasm. I guess she seems like she is being rude and condescending in her flat tone and eye roll, but there is this feeling creeping up on me. It's like I know Michelle, like I really know her, and this is just her way of living.

"I only shacked ten," I correct myself, I smile across my cheeks. "Doesn't mean I didn't do other stuff with them. If we count that I'm at eleven this week."

Were too close to the group for her to fire some sort of clever retort, but she rolls her eyes as a sort of "I still have done more than you". I follow her further in to the crowd, while she snakes her way away from the Builders. Dave's arm brushes against me, and when I see him, I realise he was reaching for her.

Maybe that's what Michelle meant. Maybe I'll ask Dave about it.

Michelle stops, far away from them, on the edge of the group. I heard last night that Alby was going to make an announcement today, but I chose not to think much of it. There is a lot more rumours circulating now than there were before the last announcement. That time, he announced that he'd banish both myself and Minho (although he did so indirectly) and my whole universe exploded.

My world is klunk because of that shucking dumb idea.

Michelle doesn't whisper to me, though she knows what is going on. From the front, I can see all the Keepers lined up behind Alby, who stands on some sort of bench above the rest of us. The Gladers form a sort of line before them, but also a sort of clump. Regardless, it is pretty easy to make out the faces of the members of the Council.

Leo raises both her eyebrows when she sees Michelle next to me. She stands still with her hands behind her back, to the left of Newt. I don't know how to tell her that Michelle and I are being friendly, and I guess amicable, since I'm sort of confused as to how this happened, so I just shrug, raising my hands as if to demonstrate that there are no ideas in my palms.

"You think he knows?" I turn towards Michelle, my voice barely a whisper. There's no need for me to ask if Alby has caught on to the fight in the woods. There isn't much else I could be talking about.

I'm not worried like Leo. She stands their nervous, her foot tapping and her hands sweating. I, on the other hand, am sort of fed up with this whole thing. I don't realistically think I did anything wrong. Alby is wrong, and it's blowing up in his face.

Michelle shakes her head. "Minho is up there on his left."

I wasn't looking for him, since I thought he'd be running. He is looking at me. Not really at Michelle; if he is surprised he doesn't show it. Minho didn't tell me the decision they came to last night. Whenever he is upset, he sort of shuts down. It suddenly is him and me in our physical existences, and he clings to me in an attempt to ground himself in this reality. He avoids his thoughts, dodging them but also catapulting himself away from them. He uses me as a route to salvation.

From the way he looks at me, I can tell he is very worried.

"If he knew, Minho would at the very least be demoted," Michelle continues over my shoulder. "And, I'd be in the Slammer."

I can't take my eyes off Minho. He mouths to me, and I know his lips well enough to read them.

I love you.

It makes my stomach twist, because it is not affectionate. It is a plea for help.

It's the first time he has told me in so many words, and it sounds like it could be the last.

"So, I'm know y'all know about all the shuckin' injured Gladers," Alby begins speaking, cutting off the whispering. "I ain't screwing around when I'm sayin' that this is gonna end."

The whispering rises again, a biting white noise that infects us. I can't tell if Ben has spilt the beans or not. Maybe he hasn't said anything to anyone. Minho stiffens, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before turning back. He holds down at his side, and the one I can see is a shaking fist.

"We're gonna figure this klunk out, if you'd all slim it," his voice rises at the end, cutting off the conversation, "y'all know that I ain't punishing the witness who didn't come forward. We only want to know who hurt Ben."

"How do we know it wasn't you?" One of those dumb shucking Builders has to heckle out.

"Why would the shank launch a shucking investigation into himself?" Newt steps forward, cutting the kid off.

Alby glares at Newt, but continues. "Listen, I don't give a klunk about secret-keepers, but we've got rules for a reason. No Glader hurts another shucking Glader. Good that?"

When no one else says anything directly to Alby, since they are all busy whispering, Alby nods. "Good that. Get back to work."

People start to move. Gladers walk around me, forwards and backwards, as I move towards the direction which Minho is walking. I can't quite get to him through the bodies that infect us, so I simply find myself standing still.

Minho stands still too, staring at me. We're really in it. it's no longer just a little slip up, if we are found out, at least he is getting shucking banished now. From here I can tell we are breathing in sync.

How can our universes exponential expansion in infinite directions cause our futures to collapse in on themselves?

What have we done?

I feel Michelle's arm on me, pulling me back as I see Newt draw Minho's attention away from me.

As I turn away, I realise that my universe is infinitely small, and impossibly lonely.


	64. I'm impossibly lonely

63 Michelle

If they suspect me, they didn't interview me yesterday.

I think I'm home clear as far as this Ben thing goes. I keep shooting him dirty looks, but that's just because he is sending them first. If he was gonna squeal like the rotten pig he is, he'd have done so already.

"You can't keep avoiding me, we work together." Gally pipes up from next to me.

I hate this. Like, he doesn't get that he was a means to an end. Why does everyone feel the need to talk about klunk that is dead and gone? I kissed Gally, because shuck David for thinking he can control me. Then again, shuck Gally for thinking that now we have some sort of thing going on.

"I'm not, shuck," I mutter, cracking my knuckles. Only like, what, an hour left of this and then I don't have to be here anymore?

"Someone could've shucking seen us." He asks, incredulous. "David was right there. What were you thinking?"

Do people idly think? He's being so fussy and prissy. Does he want me to sit down with him and talk about my feelings? Or, maybe, he wants me to be fragile and delicate and emotional. Well, I'm not. Leo and Dawn have that base covered; the ridiculous lot. I am strong willed and unbending.

"No one saw us," well, someone did. That was the whole point.

We're working on the bathroom now, starting a new structure. Tonight, we decided after jumping on the roof to see if it would cave in, that the girls are all moving into the same room. The extra one we finally built is going to be shared between Leo, Dawn and myself. I can't tell if I'm looking forward to it or not. This way I can spy on them with more ease, but this way, I also have to see them, regularly. Like, for hours. Like, shuck, who thought this was a good idea?

Like, we didn't need our own room, and we spent so shucking long building it. Now, we get our own bathroom, another addition to the Homestead. Seriously, it sucks. It's a waste of my time.

Gally looks at me, his crazy eyebrows up and his puffy cheeks burning red. I can't tell if he is shocked or if he is angry, but I do not care.

"Just come with me," Gally asks.

I turn back towards the Builders. Most of them are too busy building the frame to notice the conversation between Gally and I, with the exception of David. He stares at me through the brownish bangs that hang in his face.

It's because he sees me that I follow Gally into the Homestead.

He opens the door and maneuvers around a corner until I find myself in the same closet which David pulled me into after I punched Doug in the face. The place where David kissed me. His lips were soft against mine. His hands had lifted up into my hair, pulling me in.

Then I remember his lips were salty, and his hands were shaking. Gally's lips were rough, and course, and his palms firm and harsh when he pulled me in. The juxtaposition makes me scrunch up my nose. I can't help my sour expression when Gally turns to me.

"You usin' me?" He stares at me, firmly shutting the door behind him. He keeps his back pressed against it, trapping me in.

Of course I'm using him. "Why?"

"Well, isn't that what you girls do?" He demands, sour. "Dawn shacking around with Minho, Leo shacking Alby-"

"Leo isn't shacking anybody," I roll my eyes. As if she'd have it in her to kiss a boy. I have a feeling there is tension between her and a bunch of guys, one of those, will they won't they dramas which ends in a won't.

The last time I talked to her was when I agreed to get Gally to let Ben drink, but that was half a week ago. Before Alby decided to investigate anyway. It's mostly out of Ben's hands not, especially since if he was going to rat he would've by now.

"That's not the point," Gally begins, since he thinks the world revolves around him.

He doesn't get it. The Glade is small, and everybody's shucking klunk is all up in mine. There are like 40 some odd Gladers here, so everybody knows everybody. I try to know as little about the Builders as I shucking possibly can but to little avail. There is a world outside of us.

Like, Dawn is, almost a hundred percent sure, shacking Minho. Leo and Newt are running some sort of conspiracy, especially since if she is this good at lying it can't be the first time she has done it. David works in the kitchen with Dawn, who works with that fat cook, who is friends with Minho and Newt. It's all connecte; our small circle.

I'm surprised for such a tight knit group, one I've been haphazardly shoved into, a puzzle piece that doesn't fit, that they have managed to keep a couple secrets under wrap. I'm even more surprised that they don't know any of mine.

"The point is, you don't like me," he doesn't say it. Or, I guess he says it, but not like with the firmness that normally lingers. The silence that hangs in the air is unsure and a bit confusing. I am quite certain he doesn't no for sure. He is almost waiting for me to correct him. "You're just trying to get closer to me. Are you working with those girls?"

"You're full of yourself," I place my palms over my eyes, breathing out. "Like, shuck."

"Well, you kissed me to use me, seems about their MO," he rolls his eyes, his fists balling at his sides.

"I'm shucking close to getting in on their operations." I tell him, seething. "I've got at least Minho banished, and maybe Dawn. In a few days, I'll have Leo and Newt too. Stop being shucking impatient."

"Why did you kiss me then?" His voice rises in volume, as does the flush on his face. His hand wraps around something on the shelf, as he tears down whatever was there and smashes it off the ground.

Is he kidding me? I grab something else, some sort of cleaning supply or whatever, and whip it against the wall beside him. He ducks, unfortunately. "Because shucking David was watching, alright? And I was trying to piss him off."

"So, you knew he was watching? Are you trying to get banished?" The next thing he throws smashes into pieces, which shoot off the ground and collide against the small walls of this combined space.

"He shucking kissed me first. He rats, I say he kissed me and I turned him down." It doesn't matter, because David wouldn't do that. Even if I kissed Gally just to piss him off, David isn't the kind of guy who would kill me for it. He doesn't seem like the guy to be anything but sad, and I can't help the sinking feeling in my stomach. If Gally saw David and I kissing, I don't doubt he'd rat me out.

"So, it was just to piss off David huh?" He moves in closer to me until our chests are nearly pressed together. "This whole time, you didn't have feelings for him or for me? You've been playing us both."

I don't know what to think anymore. Was I just playing him and David? Why was I trying to piss David off anyway? For caring about me? "I don't answer to you Gally."

"Oh yes you do," he tells me, carefully. "Or else you'll get shucking banished."

What? "You're out of it Gally, shuck off."

I shove my way past him, letting him fall into the wall next to me. He grabs hold of wrist as I open the door. Trying to rip myself out of his grasp proves a struggle, but I manage to enter the hallway, dragging him behind me.

"I'll tell Alby I saw you beating up Dawn-"

"That isn't what shucking happened and you know it slinthead." I try to rip myself away from Gally, his grip only tightening.

"I can't trust you anymore," he lets go of me, and I stumble back. I don't find myself moving away though. I can't. I hate Gally. I hate being around him, and how demanding he is, and how he can't seem to trust me.

I hate that he threatens me and harasses me and just wants to control me. I hate that I am the person he is though. If I were in his shoes, I'd be doing the exact same thing. I can admire David all I want, and care about all the things he does for me, but Gally is really. We share broken bones.

"You don't tell me David has been making moves on you, you don't tell me what actually happened to Dawn, nor why you've been sneaking around. You don't tell me that you know something that could get them banished, and I assume you too, and you certainly haven't told me why Ben has been giving you dirty looks since he came back all broken and bruised. I don't know you anymore Dawn."

I don't know me either. David has let me go, but I feel myself falling into him. Not literally, I am standing, but he and I are being pulled closer together by a force I wouldn't comprehend. Our chests are pressed together. Breathing to the same beat, I can feel his heart thumping in my chest. His face is so close to mine.

I might actually kiss him. Not just to piss him off either.

"I wouldn't do that."

Gally doesn't move away from me; he only turns his head. I don't need to follow suit to know who interjected.

Alby is here, and I don't know how much he heard.


	65. I'm waiting

Ella 64

The sky is lilac, and I am missing you.

"You're lucky you can see the boys at all," skin pale from the cold room, I watch her turn towards me.

She is so white that I (though I have never seen snow) imagine she is paler. The lack of colour is only emphasized by the honey tones in her hair. Her lips compliment the light hue, due to the coldness that rings through the night. They are stained so deep red they look almost purple.

A sort of violet, actually, as the colour is saturated with blue.

I am not lucky to see him. "You don't know what he is like. What they are like."

She snuck in to see me, or I snuck into see her. We were somehow younger than I am now. It was years ago after all.

"Oh please El..."

"Don't call me that," I tell her flatly, sighing. Don't call me Ella, for Ella is not my name. It is not the one my parents gave me before I was ripped away, nor the one I want leaving her small and fragile lips.

She brings her knees up into her chest, her hair sprawled along the bed behind her. I wonder if she sleeps like this; curled up in a ball and sad, and alone. If I could, I'd take it back. Take everything back even if it meant I would've never met her. We both want this to end, I guess.

"They are taking us tomorrow," her voice cracks and creaks.

This is the last time I will ever see her. I didn't ask her if she got a chance to say goodbye to her other half. It would explain why she came here so late.

I don't think she realises she is saying goodbye to me as well. I am not going.

"We will meet again, on the other side you know." I tell her, letting her think I am going with her. I don't want to disappoint her. There doesn't seem to be anyway for us to break out of this mess. In a few years, I imagine, I will find her again.

She nods, looking down. It was always her who was calm and caring, you know? Never me. This proves difficult, since I've already pretty much forgotten how to stop a girl from crying, or at a very minimum, how to speak.

"Yeah, but..." she trails off, breathing in. "It's hard, you know? I didn't choose any of this, and you didn't either. It feels like the whole world is trying to stop us from being together."

There is no whole world.

And I can picture in front of me still. She still looks as young as she once did. So does the bringer of destruction. I can see him in the corner too, waiting. I could've stopped him. Instead, I decided to let him tear our universe apart. No more purple, no more yellow. Smoke came through, and dragged away all the colours. Now, we are trapped in a black and white world. Without each other.

"Promise me you'll find me again?" She is careful with her words, painting them down against the ground.

I would come back for her in a million lifetimes. She reaches for my hand, and I take it firmly within my grasp.

I can't remember what she feels like.

The universe comes crashing down.

Of course I will find her again.

I can't remember if I told her I would never stop looking for her.

At first, I just rip apart the sheets, until I move closer to the door. They have locked me in. My nails claw against the handle, trying to rip it out of its socket. Trying to pull myself through and escape. I will tear down this whole universe if I must. She cannot escape me. I have left her behind and abandoned her, and I need it to be day 28, because that is when it will all change, and soon thereafter I can find her again.

"Please," I can feel my voice hoarse and harsh.

I had forgotten who I was, and the world is bleeding with colour. I shot myself in the head and the wrong angle, and I remember. Not quite all of it, not quite the wrong angle, but I remember. The Violet girl in bits and pieces, as well as that secret club built upon destruction, and those three girls before we got here.

For now, our end is here.

"He is coming!" I shriek, begging them to hear me. "Please Leo, you must remember me. We had a deal, alright? I promise we can fix it but you have to help me out. We can beat the Maze, and we can do what they want, alright? I'm sorry. This wasn't supposed to happen."

No one comes, although I can hear someone's footsteps moving about above me.

I don't know who is coming, but I feel the door unlocking. Behind it is Zart, and a seemingly exhausted Clint. I leap into Zart's arms, not knowing what is taking over me nor who I am. Clint grabs hold of me, pulling me away and moving me back to the bed.

"You are hallucinating." He tells me.

I shake my head. "No, I remember. I did it wrong and I remember." Zart moves up next to him, and I can see his lip quiver. I turn to stare him down, shaking my head. "Please, I'm not going crazy. I can't explain what is happening, but it's going to be over soon. The whole place will fall apart and it will be my fault. I could've stopped it."

"Ella," Clint warns, holding a syringe in his hand.

I skeeter around to the other side of the bed, backing away from Clint. He is full technicolour, they both are.

"No, seriously Clint, it's different." I don't know why it changed suddenly. "You know the Creators, right? They do something to... to stop... I... I botched it. The angle-"

"What is she talking about?" Zart asks carefully.

I pause, looking at him. I forgot no one knows his theory. I assume maybe Leo or Jeff knows, but I can't be sure.

"I remember bits and pieces." I tell him, staring at Clint as I do so.

"No one can know." Clint stares me down, as I watch his chest move. I really pissed him off, but I had to say something. "I'm not even sure that's what's happening."

Zart just stands still, staring me down. He turns to Clint for a second, pausing. "So you lied to the Gathering? She really remembers?"

"I don't know," Clint begins, turning to him. "It's not worth starting a witch hunt over. Especially not when they are already looking into Dawn's beating. Michelle was arrested today too. Alby won't hesitate to banish them all."

"You can't let anyone know," I tell him, breathing in and out. "It won't matter soon, because they come up and we go down. I'll... you don't... I'm not crazy!"

In a flash, Clint lunges across the bed, pinning me against the wall. A scream rips out from my throat as I thrash against him. He manages to prick me anyway, and the world becomes foggy once more.


	66. I'm faint

Leo 65

"This is all that came up?" I riffle through the box of clothing, staring it down. I'm going to have to move it into our room tonight to let the girls sort through it. It's sort of funny to me that no one slept in the room last night but me. Dawn, I can almost guarantee, was sleeping with Minho.

Jackson nods at me, kicking the box my way. He seems distracted, or as if he has somewhere better to me. I didn't realise he doubled as a Bricknick, since it was he who lied about Michelle beating him up.

"It's all I gave you, isn't it?"

There is very little in here. Four additional pairs of pants, I assume one for each of us girls, and eight shirts. They are colour-coded, coming in only blue, green, red, and purple. I can take a guess which shirts will fit us easily.

I want to roll my eyes at his tone. Obviously this isn't his fault, but I'm just at a lost. "I think I might need to put in another order."

He scoffs at me, rolling his eyes. I see he doesn't award me the same pleasantries as I give him. At least I can be thankful he hasn't stabbed himself and blamed me. "Yeah, right."

Does he have some sort of problem with me? If he does, it doesn't matter. I take the box and simply leave his shed, heading back to the Homestead.

I place the box on the floor in the center of our room, across from the few mattresses that Newt helped me bring up earlier. His limp made it harder for him to walk up the stairs, and I wish I had asked him how it had happened.

Apparently the Bricknicks had lost our mattresses for over a week. Smells a bit like klunk to me, but whatever.

"I thought I'd find you here," Gally walks in, staring me down.

Did he really? Since when does he talk to me "Well, found me you have."

"I need your help." He begins, ashamed to admit it. "Alby threw Michelle in the Slammer last night."

He must know about Ben. Shucking Hell, how did he find out? Why hasn't he said anything yet? What is happening?

"What happened?" I ask.

Gally welcomes himself into my room, sitting on one of the mattresses on the floor. He looks around the space, his eyebrows twitching. I didn't realise he cared much about her more than as a worker. He has saved her life before, when she was nearly banished, so I can't say I'm entirely surprised.

"What can you tell me about Ben?" He sits down across from me, and I pause.

I don't think much about them. "I don't know. Doesn't he work for you?"

I don't think much about him. I sit on the fact that Gally saved Michelle's life. As much as Minho and Newt seem to go on about how much they hate Gally, I think I can tell he means well. He just portrays it differently than them. Like, he obviously cares about the Glade a lot and all the people in it.

If I were in his shoes, I'd be suspicious of us girls too. I can't hate him for that, and I can't hate him for stopping Michelle's banishment even though I get the feeling he hated her.

"Alby thinks she knows something," he tells me.

I don't like that one bit. "That doesn't make any sense."

"It's my fault, anyway," he sighs, breathing out. It seems this is the most apologetic Gally can become. "I really don't like you."

Where is that coming from? "Sorry?"

He cracks his back, lifting himself up back to be standing. The way Gally commands the space is eerie. It's almost as if he was born to be in charge. He looks closer to Ella's age then mine, I'd guess he's about 15 where I guess I am 17. As far as I can tell, Dawn and I are the oldest girls, with Michelle looking around Gally's age. None of us, including Alby, have the aura of command Gally does though.

"I know you girls are up to something," he pauses, glaring at me. "Something I don't like. You aren't quite smart enough to be in leagues with the Creators, never mind that I don't remember you."

"Remember us?" I cut him off to ask.

"I went through the Changing," he tells me, stoic and strong.

I haven't, to my knowledge, met anyone else who has. He remembers?

"That's not the point." He continues, glaring at me. "I don't think you and Dawn know klunk more than the rest of us, but I ain't putting it past you both to be trying to sneak up to the leaders. I know she's shacking Minho, and I know you are shacking Alby."

I almost laugh, but my lungs are frozen inside my chest. I am certainly not shacking Alby. "So, what is it you want?"

"What happened to Ben?" He says it clean and careful. "Do you know?"

I nod, since there is no sense lying to him. "Michelle doesn't know."

He steps closer to me, until our chests are nearly pressed together. "She doesn't get banished, alright? I don't care what happens to you shanks, but she gets banished and you are dead."

"I don't want her to get banished anymore than you do," he doesn't seem to care about what I have to say, but I say it anyway. "She is in the Slammer."

Gally nods, either confused or distracted, I can't tell. "He's holding her there until tomorrow, when he interviews her. I need you to be in that room with her, to make sure she doesn't say klunk that'll get us all in trouble."

I nod carefully. "Agreed."

He reaches his hand forward for me to shake, and I take it firmly in my grasp. In a firm move, he pulls me tightly towards him, whispering in my ear, "if she dies, you die."

"What's going on here?" Newt asks.

I look up to see him standing and waiting in the doorway. He looks both puzzled and confused.

Gally lets go of me, backing away. He shrugs at Newt as he shoves by him, moving out of my room and into the hallway. I hear his footsteps growing softer the further away he moves, and I can't help but be confused.

"What was he going on about?" Newt asks, looking at me. "Why was he here?"

"Michelle is in the Slammer," I gloss over the details, since Gally glossed over them as well. I don't really know what is happening. "Alby knows something about Ben."

Newt takes a second to pause, looking at me funny. "Is that what Gally told you?"

I nod carefully, looking at Newt. There is something, probably many something's actually, that he isn't telling me. A secret hides behind his lips, and I wait for him to continue.

"How long have you known?" He must already have been told she was in the Slammer, since he was second-in-command. Alby would've talked to him by now.

He scratches the back of neck. "I'm sorry Lee."

"How long..." I enunciate every syllable, closing my eyes. "Did you know before you helped me unload the stuff? Or before then?"

He doesn't answer me, which means before. Newt is unfamiliar with a harsh truth, I realise. How could he keep something from me? Something that involved something so important?

"He doesn't think she hurt Ben, I don't think," Newt's voice gets louder, as he steps closer to me. "He heard them arguing."

"Michelle and Ben?" Curiosity gets the best of me.

He shakes his head. "Michelle and Gally. He was about to kiss her, or she him but he couldn't really tell. So he locked her up since nobody would notice. Gally has too important a role to just be able to disappear overnight."

"Did you know when we were hanging out around the bonfire last night?" I'm not surprised Gally tried to kiss Michelle. I'm not surprised they were caught. I am astonished Newt didn't tell me. When he doesn't answer, I realise he knew last night. "Did you know before dinner?"

"He's letting her out for lunch," Newt pleads with me, his voice takes over the space. he's not ashamed anymore. "I didn't think you needed to worry about it."

"Since when do you decide what I do and don't know?"

"Shuck, Lee," he struggles to breathe in, stepping closer to me. "I didn't want you to have another shucking panic attack? I know what stress does to you."

I have to remember he was trying to help me to avoid the nausea that rises in my throat. I think I might throw up. He violated my trust.

"I can't see you hurting, like you do every time someone gets in trouble." He moves closer to me. "It kills me Lee, I can't handle it. I knew Michelle would be fine. She wasn't suppose to be interrogated or anything, so I didn't think I needed to worry you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," I'm calmer now, although I am still reeling. "It's fine."

"Alby's got no leads," Newt continues to reassure me. "Nobody's said anything, and even Ben wants to just move on. Okay? So no one is going to be banished or hurt or anything, okay?"

I don't know how to nod. I can only see Newt; everything around me is becoming a dark tunnel.

"I just, I didn't want to see you hurt like I did," he begins pausing. He looks almost pained. "Back almost a year ago, actually."

He can't know that everything is okay. I can't really feel anything. "I just, I think, I'm just..."

I feel kind of dizzy.

"Sit down Lee," Newt orders me, his hands finding my waist. "Are you alright?"

My head is pounding, and everything seems king of blurry.


	67. I'm naked

Dawn 66

"Did you hear about Leo?" I lean into Minho's side.

His skin is warm against me. We fit together like I didn't know people could. I don't need blankets to keep me warm, but he has one haphazardly dangling over us. I imagine I only make him feel colder.

He looks down and me, almost laughing as he squints. He plants a kiss on my forehead, before rolling his eyes. "Is that what you are seriously going to ask me after we just did that?"

I shrug. "What do you want me to say?"

He shrugs back, a smile playing on his lips. "Aren't you supposed to care about it more than me?"

"No," I pull myself up onto my elbows, scrunching my nose in his face. "Why would I care about it? I don't even like you."

He sighs, placing a hand over his chest. "Oh that's the shucking best news I've heard all day! I'm so glad we're on the same page. You had me worried you liked me."

I playfully shove him, and I can't help but laugh. "Seriously."

"I am serious." He tells me, pretending to be offended. "Even though I can't remember my middle name, I am sure it is serious."

There is no serious bone in Minho's body. I bite my lip, looking up at his starlit eyes. I don't really know how to express how wonderful he is, and how painful it is when we aren't together.

"I do love you," it's the first time I say it, since it's the first time I'm sure. He leans down, pressing a kiss against my forehead. Letting his lips linger, he continues to hold on to me.

"It took you a while," he tells me.

"I wanted to be sure," I answer. After these past few weeks, I needed to know that I did love him before I said anything. Now, it comes out natural. Not some big climatic revelation, under the stars, through the chaos.

Even in the quiet, when it is just him and I and no one else, I still love him.

"I knew the second I saw you," he tells me.

I roll my eyes, a gestured I've done a hundred times before, a gesture I hope to do hundreds of times more.

"Leo would want me to go, you know," I lift myself further up off the bed, until he grabs hold of my arms, pulling me back up towards him.

"Well, she had a bit of a fall didn't she?" He asks, me. "It's not like she is quite awake to care."

Apparently, something I should've known in retrospect, is Leo's lack of eating. I never saw her at meals, really, except to push food around her plate. I never thought much of it until Clint came to the Kitchen with the news.

"She's awake now," I remark, probably. It's really late though, so it's entirely possible that she is fast asleep. "Newt told her about Michelle being thrown in the Slammer."

"He should've done in sooner," Minho shakes his head, running his hands along my arms. "Should've seen his face when he told me what happened."

I'm not entirely certain it was completely Newt's fault. She had barely been eating, probably due to her ever-consuming nerves. Technically, it was her fault. And by technically, I should say almost entirely.

"I told him not to," I look at Minho funny. "You think he should've told her?"

"Well, she had a right to know," Minho counters, a bitter stain on his face. "Oh, right, I forgot you didn't tell me when Newt knew."

He didn't need to know. It would only cause him panic, like that kind of stuff does Leo. "I was right not to worry, wasn't I? Newt doesn't give a klunk."

There's plenty of things I don't tell Minho. I haven't told him that I keep getting up in the early hours of the morning, wandering into the Slammer. How that sometimes when Minho's hands are on my waist, I think they are Ben's. I thought it would go away, but it isn't. He didn't manage to touch me, but I'm still jacked.

Minho rolls his eyes, but presses a kiss against my lips anyway. He shakes his head, pulling me up and tighter against him. "You want to do something?"

I pause for a second. It's already two am. I've got to get up early in the morning to sneak out of Minho's room and help Fry prepare for breakfast. Plus, Frankie has me roped into the elaborate prank involving two cups of vanilla extract that he somehow managed to get up here. Besides, I need to actually check in with Leo to make sure she is doing okay, and make sure Michelle hasn't spilt anything (although I doubt she has).

"Yeah, of course." I know exactly what I have in mind.

I lean over the bed, throwing Minho his shirt. I search the ground for the new one Leo found for me, as well as the new pair of pants. It really is nicer than I thought, wearing clean clothing. Especially since it doesn't smell like klunk.

"Star-gazing again?" The last time we went out together, a few nights ago, we climbed up in a tree in the Deadheads, as high as we could get without the branches snapping under our grasps, and stared up at the cosmos.

"I wonder if space is as cold as it is tonight," I whispered, turning my attention towards Minho.

He shook his head, his eyes unmoving from the bright and wonderful stars in the sky. His hand wrapped around mine; it's warmth protecting me from the Glade's harsh wind.

"Nothing is as cold as this shucking place," he chuckled.

I nestled in closer to him, giving up trying to catch glances of the stars through the leaves that cover us. "You're really warm."

"You're really hot," he emphasized, finally turning his head towards mine.

When I kissed him, all the stars in the sky erupted.

"Yes and no," I tug my tank top over my head, standing up to pull my pants on. "I thought we'd go down memory lane."

"If you wanted to recreate our meeting, you might want to wait until morning." He struggles out of the bed as well, trying to find his pants to through up over top of him. He isn't completely bare, but he can't quite leave the room without them on. "Grievers aren't exactly forgiving in the night."

"I was going to suggest climbing the Walls," I tell him, placing my hands on my waist.

I almost laugh as Minho finally pulls his pants on, but struggles to put on his belt in the dark lighting.

The door opens, and I almost leap a foot backwards.

Minho still isn't fully dressed, I haven't found my flannel, and there is someone staring at the two of us.

"Klunk," it's Fry, and his eyes are wide. "Shucking shucked-faced shuck. You're shucking kidding me."

Neither Minho nor I have it in our hearts to deny it, because that would be pretending Frypan is a slinthead. We aren't fully clothed, Minho's hair is a mess and I can assume mine is as well, and the bed is not made even a bit. This is shucking bad. Like, really shucking bad.

Minho looks over at me, his eyes almost pleading with me. It's a sort of apology, and I can feel my breath hitching in my throat. Fry wouldn't say anything. We're friends. The problem is, he is big on the rules.

Minho moves around him, quick to shut the door behind him. At least this way, when Fry explodes, the sound will be a bit muffled.

Fry looks back and forth rapidly between us. I can't tell what is going on in his head, since it is so dark and he is barely anything more than a shadow.

"You shanks are really doin' it, huh?" His voice is more breath than voice, and he passes it off like he is trying to laugh but he can't. "Shuck Minho."

"Siggy..." Minho begins, but forgets what else to say. "Siggy, you... you can't tell Alby. You can't. They'll kill her."

"And you," Frypan continues, gesturing to Minho.

"And a lot of other people," I continue, pleading to Frypan. "The people who know at least, and a few others."

"Who knows?" Frypan asks, looking at us.

Minho shakes his head. "I'll get banished before I betray them Fry."

"Yeah, and she'll get shucking banished too." He moves further into the room, moving to grab a hold of me. He is rough like he's never been before. "Seriously slinthead? Do you even care about her, or is this about getting action?"

Minho looks at a loss for words, but he pulls me out of Frypan's hands.

"Like shuck, there isn't even a new Greenie yet and you've already found a girl to shack up with?" He asks, confused.

"It's not like I don't know her," Minho argues, stepping away from me and closer to Fry. "We shucking live together. It's not like it's her first shucking day here and I just happened to shack her. We know each other."

From what I remember, which is nothing, relationships come in many different breaths. There are one's which are quick flings, igniting and extinguishing in the same second. There are some that are like black holes, which suck you in and observe you until you forget that there was a you before there was an us. There are stars that last millions of years, burning until they shatter and become nothing but space dust.

When I first started talking to Minho, I could feel the Earth turning in my stomach. I felt as if I were lost at sea, and I was finally found. It seemed as if the water was swimming with us, spinning us in circles before spitting us back out.

There are childhood friends who become lovers, and enemies who become lovers, and long-time friends who are always circling around each other but never leap at the chance to be together. Minho and I are part of the lucky few, who get every second together that they have. Who found each other, and jumped at the chance.

"Do you remember when we first met Fry?" Minho asks, carefully. "When we first met, I knew we would be friends. I knew, deep inside me, that you were a good person. It's the same thing."

"I know she's fantastic shank," Frypan rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "Believe me, I work with her every shucking day. It's just, a big risk to get banished over. What if someone else had found you?"

"You're not telling Alby?" I step closer to the two of them, interrupting their shared universe with my own.

Fry raises and eyebrow at me, his mouth agape. "You shucking serious? Why would I do that? You think I'd leave myself alone in the Kitchen with Frankie? I couldn't handle that slinthead alone. Besides, I actually like you both."

"You thought he'd report us?" Minho asks, his breath low. "I was worried about Ben finding out and using this against you."

I am glad Frypan doesn't hear this comment, since he's still caught in my suggestion. "You've got no idea. I'm just pissed I owe Joe money. I thought you shanks would hit it up in a month. How long has this been going on?"

"You were betting on us?" I laugh, rolling my eyes. Of course they were. Why didn't that occur to me already?

He nods, confirming it. "Yeah, even Dave was in on it. I am not letting Joe know he was right."

"Good that," I agree, almost panting.

"Shank had me worried for a second," Minho breaths out. "I'm glad you are chill about it."

The more people know, the more I realise Alby's rule is shucking off the wall bonkers. We don't need to be held apart; we just need to punish people like Ben.

Maybe soon we can let people know. Soon, perhaps, this won't be absolutely terrible.


	68. I'm consuming and consuming

Michelle 67

I can't believe they shucking locked me up again. At least this time it was only a warning.

At least, this time, they let me out the next day, so long as I promised not to tell anybody about being locked up. Like I've got anybody to shucking tell. At least Alby was cool about the whole thing, he told me he knows we are probably shacking, but he doesn't have a shuck to give until he has proof. So as long as no one gives him proof, I think we are good.

Not that there is proof to give.

Besides, I've learned my lesson. They punished me well enough just by locking me in there with nothing but my thoughts. I don't need to ruin my day further by talking about my feelings. What do they even think this is?

I also have been avoiding Gally. Not showing up for work, and just hanging around proves easy enough. No one has come looking for me yet. I don't know how to go back. I don't know how to tell him I don't like him, or how to tell him that they didn't hear anything about Ben. I'm not telling him about Ben, I don't think. Maybe I should've trusted David more.

Dinner is over, and as I dump my plate in the kitchen sink, I see Leo in line. I walk up to her, sure and steady, pulling her away from her conversation with one of those Med-jacks I choose to forget the name of.

"Hey," she offers carefully, staring me down. I'm not sure what I am doing, or how to ask her what I'm trying to ask her, since I'm not good at this emotion stuff. "Are you good?"

"Dawn," I jump in, cutting her off. I think I can trust her at this point. "Where is she?"

Leo shrugs, looking around as if the girl would just happen to be hanging out just behind me. I don't know why I'm looking for Dawn; I mean, I guess I know her slightly better, but she doesn't have good decision making.

She, for some reason, thinks Minho of all people is good-looking. Definitely don't trust her.

"Is it about Gally?" Leo offers.

I rip her out of the room, moving further away from the prying ears of the Gladers around us. How can she read me so well? I hate it, completely.

Once we are practically tucked against the Wall and the soon to be shutting Doors, she continues. "I would've gotten you out, but nobody told me. And then I fainted..." her embarrassment takes over, and I can't help my eyeroll.

Of course, she fainted. It's Leo.

I avert my eyes from her soft, and pleading face. She looks at me with concern that makes me feel both like a child but also valued.

"Hey, if he did what Ben did-"

"He didn't." My eyes snap up to hers, and she shuts her mouth.

We must look so odd, standing this close to each other. The meek and fearful brunette, and the angry and violent ginger. We fit out stereotypes slightly too well, and it is odd to see our rolls reversing.

"He did try to kiss you."

I kissed him first. "It's a long story. I've shucked it up."

She pauses, listening to me. It's weird. I hate this feeling. This way that she cares for me; it just makes me feel like klunk for hating her for so long. Especially when she's been behind me in every corner. David was right. I hate that.

"I kissed Gally first, because David was watching," I don't know why I tell her this. "And he kissed me."

"Dave?" She asks.

I nod, and she looks around. This is why I wanted to talk to Dawn. She knows David, and well. Leo doesn't, not like I do.

"Are you both..."

When I can't nod, I shrug. Because, like, we aren't. Maybe I'd want to though? It's sounds crazy, I know, but it's hard. David is right about everything, and he wants the best for me. He isn't some soft, lovey dovey person either. He just happens to have feelings outwardly.

Gally is hard edges and rough hands. He fights with me, and we bicker and argue. He likes me, it's quite obvious, and there is something about hating him that I love. Something about him that sucks me in deeper and deeper.

"I need to apologise to David." I'm not going to be with him, or Gally. Neither of them are good enough for me. "I don't know how."

Leo smiles at me, smile across her lips. "You're deciding to apologise?"

I roll my eyes, resisting the urge to punch both her and myself in the face. "I don't need a lecture, Mom."

"Well, I'm sure you can figure it out." She bites the inside of her cheek before adding, "just don't hit him and I'm sure he'll forgive you. Probably, I don't pretend to understand boys, and I don't want to."

She isn't looking at me, and I catch her staring off into the field. Around the bonfire sits the Med-jack boys, Newt, Minho, and Dawn. I wonder if she's into one of those boys she spends most of her days with. To be honest, I thought the Med-jacks were together, but I could be wrong.

I nod, forgetting how to thank her and walking off. She's so distracted in her gaze she doesn't call after me to add anything.

It takes a while to find David, it takes even longer to get him alone. So long, that its after lights out and the walls are long past closed. In all that time, I still haven't found a way to talk to explain myself. Nor do I think I could apologise if I wanted too.

"You wanted to talk?" I'm surprised he heard me. He opens his eyes, spinning around in his hammock to look closer at me. His blue eyes pierce me, and I can't help but look away.

His eyes are much sharper than Gally's. Gally's look both green and blue at the same time, and it makes me feel weird that I noticed.

Dave gets out of his hammock, walking away with me. He moves, until we are pressed into the very corner of the Glade. He takes a breath to think and feel, and I am surprised it takes him so long to stare at me.

"You know, I thought about what I'd say if you came to talk to me," he looks away from me, but not in the distracted or embarrassed sense. He is furious, and I guess I owe him that. "I didn't really put that much thought into it, since I figured you'd want nothing to do with me, but believe me when I say I actually thought about it."

I wait for him to continue, since I don't really know what to say. I didn't think I'd come talk to him either, especially not to apologise.

"Like, I get if you aren't in to me," he continues. "Shuck, I didn't think you would be, I don't know what I was thinking. I don't get you Michelle."

"I was pissed off..." I can't end that sentence, because that's the end.

"You don't think before you act," he begins. "You're lucky Gally has feelings for you, or you'd be shucking banished right now."

"I didn't tell him about Dawn," I begin.

"But you wanted to, right?" He asks, sighing. "I don't get why you don't want people to be friends with you."

It's different now. I'm trying to be friendly. I talked to Dawn when I saw her sneak out of Minho's room. I suck out Leo when it all got rough too. Really, I'm trying my damndest. All just to spite Dave, for saying I didn't trust people.

Trusting people is the bravest thing I've ever done.

"I do, I'm just..." this is really not the time for me to be at a loss for words. "Shuck, I can't explain it. I'm really shucking sorry."

"Just, stay away from me," he pushes past me, and this time it is my turn to grab him. And I do, even though it's hard. Burning hands reaching for pure skin. I am a ball of fire, seeking to be extinguished. It is not in my nature to care. My body is not one which reaches forward with its arms spread looking for something to hold. I consume and I consume and I burn and I destroy. It's so hard to grab David and attempt to build something.

"No, I'm sorry," I begin. "Please, Dave, I'm sorry."

"Sorry that you upset me?" He turns back. "Or sorry that I'm upset?"

Those questions are the same thing, and I don't know how to answer him. He shrugs himself out of my grip, walking further away.

"No, I just," I can't reach him to explain I have changed. That I am different. "I didn't tell him about Dawn and Minho, even though they are shacking. I didn't tell him about Ben. I kissed Gally, but I don't give a shuck about him."

"I could care less about Gally," he begins. "I could care less about you liking me too."

"Then why are you upset?" Finally, the anger roars out of me, where it belongs. It blows down the Glade, and the Walls and all the Gladers until it is Dave and I, staring at each other.

"You are addicted to trouble." He says it with such finality I believe him. "You like Gally because he is dangerous and volatile. You fight people, because you crave the rush of violence. For some reason, you throw yourself headfirst into trouble over and over again, and I want nothing to do with it."

Now he wants nothing to do with me? I am not even sure if I like him, but he is shoving me off like I'm nothing. I'm not nothing. I calmed down because I know my behaviour is pissing him off and he has the audacity to shove this back onto me?

"I didn't ask you to help me," I begin. "I didn't ask you to pull me out from the crumbling Homestead, or tell Gally you stole the screwdriver, or be there for me, and I certainly didn't ask you to kiss me. You shove yourself into my life, demanding I be different, and then you shut me out?"

"That's the thing, you think help is something you need to ask for," he storms closer to me, until he stares down at me from high above me. "I didn't do it to make you owe me."

"Not intentionally, but that's what you did," I reach forward to shove him away, but he grabs my hands.

"Take some blame." He orders it and I fight the urge to spit in his face.

"Only if you share it."

He lets my shaking fists go, huffing. We are both struggling to breathe, and I don't know what is happening.

"Stop pretending you don't care about me," he begins.

I shake my head, my red hair flaming out around me. "Shucking make me."

He kisses me, and this time I kiss him back. This burns at my throat. He pulls me in tighter and closer to him, trying to make my skin become one with his.

"I love you," his words are simple and soft as he breathes them into me.

I can feel myself pulling at his shirt, trying to remove it. I continue to kiss him, ignoring his words to the best of my ability.

He carefully unbuttons the fabric, afterwards doing the same for mine. He slowly moves us, pressing my back into the ground beneath us. His hands rake up my skin, his nails digging feeding into me, and I find myself matching his movements.

Forget building, this is a beautiful destruction.


	69. I'm blurred

Ella 68

"I didn't think he'd let you out," Zart sits down next to me as I stare down the box hole.

Three days. Three, two, one, lights out, or lights on, or the end or the beginning. Was the Big Bang the end of something before us too?

She would know. She knows everything, and he tore us apart. I remember the clattering and grinding of metal on metal, the bones of the Box mimicking the future of our bones. The ends justify the means, or so they say.

"He didn't," Clint was too busy kissing Jeff to notice I was gone, and Leo is being carried around by Alby everywhere. None of them get the gravity of what is arriving.

Maybe she will come soon.

"Snuck out?"

Not like it matters. "We weren't supposed to be here. That's why the ending hasn't come."

He knows we weren't but he doesn't agree. The extent to which I get it. The smoke man sent us here.

At first, my memories were occurring simultaneously to my experience. Those were the hallucinations. Then, my memory was taking over; forcing me into seizures and delusions. Now, things are becoming clearer. The truth is appearing more and more with each passing second.

I'm thankful that Zart barely talks, and he consequently doesn't ask many more questions. he tells it to me straight or doesn't tell it to me at all. I appreciate that about him.

"I don't like him," I begin. "He ripped me from her."

"Her?" He asks.

I nod, but only do I remember her in glimpses. Her hair, her smile, one or two conversations. Every second with her felt like a universe though, even if one I can only see as my vision blurs at the edges. It was like being strangled. Darker and darker, tunneling and collapsing, and sounds fading.

I remember him more clearly. The Smoke man introduced us, and I refused to help. That was my first mistake. My second, was thinking this plan, whatever it was, was a good idea. My third was thinking I could help. My fourth was thinking I could get back to her. My fifth was thinking they would have to restart. My sixth was thinking they couldn't replace me. My seventh was sitting here right now.

My eighth, one which I am going to try my best not to make, is letting the next boy up survive.

"She was sent where I was supposed to go," although I did this all wrong. I wonder if they sent four boys in our places to the other place. I wonder if she fell in love with one of them, or another girl while I was gone. I wonder if I will ever see her again.

"Do you remember the other girls?" He asks, actually speaking. "The ones who came here?"

I nod. Yes. I wish I didn't.

"He might r ," she comforts the other, although she does so half-heartedly.

I shouldn't have told them no one was allowed to remember, but they had a right to know. Especially since, next month, they are sending her up. Soon, she will forget him.

"It's already been a year." She is bitter, and angry. "I can't believe they roped me into this."

"You're just as good as dead out there as in here," a third cuts in, aggressively drinking her soup to cut off her words.

"At least you have a chance to live, because of this?" The first voice adds, but she doesn't believe it.

"I want them to pay, I don't want a chance to live," she fights, her voice bringing me back to the conversation.

"Amen to that," the third agrees silently. "That's the goal, ain't it?"

When the first doesn't protest, I realise I can make them pay. I realise that it doesn't just have to be me. I couldn't pull it off on my own anyway, with all the locked doors and long sprints it would require, never mind the distraction it would need on the security cameras.

"I know how we do it," I cut in, and everyone listens. "I already have a plan."

I don't know anymore than that. It was my idea, but not my execution.

"I don't know why we are here, but I know it's important." I don't add that it my goal was to destroy it.

"No one knows why we are here," Zart plays with some of the grass along the ground. "The Creators placed us here, in the middle of the Maze. Our best guess is we solve it and get out. I take it you don't think it is that simple."

It isn't. Solve the Maze, with the key, I don't know. I should've become her, and then I could know now, and everything would be fine. Instead, I burned all hope to the ground.

Three days.

"Hey, hey," Zart grabs my hands, reaching up to my face. He wipes something away, but I can't look away from his eyes. I can't shrug myself from his grip. "Ella, El, hey, come on shank, hey."

He continues to repeat this over and over hear him. Although, when I try to speak, I realise I can't. Something in my head burns, and it is shutting itself down. I can't quite think. It really hurts. Like, it hurts like I'm going to have a seizure again, although that was mostly dizzy.

This can't be the memories, or the lack thereof. This is deliberate.

"I need a Med-jack!" He is calling out for it, as my eyes feel heavy.

Zart lowers me to the ground, and I can hear his feet pounding and running away. From the corner of my vision, I see a long bug in the grass, with a bright red light on the end.

Zart was not the first person to introduce these creatures to me. Those words came from another boy, years ago.

"They have these things called Beetle Blades, so they can see what is happening." He looks down at the palms of the hands, as ashamed as he should be by that answer.

That's how he knows about what is happening. If I had agreed, I could've seen her again. Although, I'm not sure I'd want to stare after her day after day, year after year, watching her grow older. Watching her, almost certainly, fall in love with someone else.

"They are not good," I tell him.

"They are working towards the good," he offers, as if he is trying to convince himself more than me.

I don't know. I am to be one of the last ones to go up, and there are only a few months left. He can say it from behind the safety of his computer screen, where he watches them day in and day out. He can't say it to me.

"The ends and the means, or whatever bullshit you're on," I don't have anymore patience to talk to him.

I turn around and leave the room, passing a boy whose face I've seen her too often.


	70. I'm shrieking

Leo 69

"You holdin' up?" Dawn places an arm around me, and every inch of my skin freezes.

She heard what happened to Ella. Clint, as far as I can tell, doesn't believe she remembers anymore. For a long time, that was the running theory, but she's just gone off the bend lately. From what I can tell, he thinks she really is hallucinating.

I nod, and I lie. "She's okay. Awake now."

"Probably a brain tumour," Jackson notes, chowing down on his meat.

Dawn simply glares at him, and as Michelle walks up, she shoves him off the log where he sits. While Dawn laughs aloud, I try to hide my smile. Jackson coughs, the chicken in his mouth spewing all over the ground, which only causes Dawn's laugh to grow louder.

"Sorry Jackson, want to repeat that?" Michelle asks, passing by him. She rubs his hair, in a way which I imagine is supposed to be compassionate, but instead is aggressive and condescending.

"Careful now," Dawn warns, a teasing tone. She's light and playful. "You might not want to mess with Michelle. I hear she carries a knife."

Jackson was the Bagger who accused her of stabbing him. I remember those days; when everyone was worried we were shacking it up with the boys in power and trying to take over. When it looked like Newt and Gally were teaming up to overthrow Alby.

Now some of us actually are shacking the leaders, and people have pretty much accepted we know nothing more than we claim.

"I haven't forgotten about that," she spits, literally, on him.

See, I was all for this until she spat on him. Is that a punishable offense? Does it only come back to her if he hits her?

I don't have the energy to care. I've been really tired lately. None of this matters anyway. She'll get thrown in the Slammer, and then we will continue this never-ending cycle of despair so strong it weighs my stomach down into my knees.

Apparently, for a Bagger, Jackson is relatively smart. He leaves his klunk on the ground, getting up and walking away from us.

"Getting all sentimental on us now?" Dawn continues to smile Michelle, who only gives her back the look I first had when I tried a lemon. "Since when do you care about the, and I quote, "Pipsqueak"?"

Her teasing is a bit rough.

"I don't," she brushes it off, taking a bite in the apple off Jackson's plate. Her mouth is full as she speaks. "I just really shucking hate him." She pauses, swallowing and turning to me. "You got a shipment for us?"

"You want clothes?" I'd be surprised if Michelle showers more than once a week. I don't know her well enough to decide if she does or doesn't smell bad, but she barely seems like the kind of person who cares about cleanliness. Maybe Dave is making a good impression on her.

She shakes her head, taking another bite into the apple. I'm surprised she has even managed to carry a conversation with us this long. I kind of like this, the part of us being all friends. It feels familiar.

"Blood," she tells me. When I don't know how to answer what she means, she gestures downwards. "Blood. Lots of blood."

"Oh," I remark. "I can go get you some? We all needed it weeks ago."

Michelle just shrugs, "I can get it. Is it in our room?"

When I nod, she heads into the Homestead, slamming the door behind her. It isn't an angry slam though, just a casual Michelle slam. Dawn starts giggling, looking over at me.

"Since when does she talk to you?" She asks, sighing. "And since when does she talk to you politely?"

Since yesterday, I guess. I might have to thank Dave later. After all, she has only been acting politely since that whole, "all the Builders kissing all the Builders" fiasco. Not that I mind. It's making my existence better.

I may feel like klunk, but it's a bearable klunk. It's not the heaviness of previous nights. One of my good days, I guess. I don't know how long this can last. It never seems too. Either I give up, or the chaos consumes me. I can't really discern which.

The whole Ben situation has died down a bit, since Ben's a bit of a shank anyway so no one particularly cares what happened to him. So, other than her consistent and not so secret sneaking around with Minho, Dawn is causing minimal problems in my life. Michelle, although she is also sneaking around with boys (multiple), she hasn't physically attacked anyone (except for Jackson) that I know of this week. Ella is healthier as her seizures are minimal (though they are obviously still plaguing her body).

Basically, everything is perfect right now.

So, why do I still have this narrowing ache in me?

"Has Newt apologised yet?" She asks me.

I could be asking her for an apology. Apparently, she knew about Michelle being locked up, although she didn't know about the whole thing about the Gally Near Kiss. Dawn should've told me. I thought I could trust her. We are closer than myself and Newt, I'd like to think. Especially since she is sitting this close to me.

"He apologised then," I tell her.

She nods, albeit reluctantly. I should tell her I don't care about Newt, since I do and I don't. I care about her though.

"Frypan knows about me and Minho," she begins. "He's not going to rat us out or anything, but I thought I should tell you."

She's being honest with me, even if she thinks it'll upset me. I avert my eyes, looking down at the ground. Why does she do this to me?

"Thanks," I mutter, more grateful than it comes across.

She pats me on the shoulder once more, before getting up. "Newt just was trying to be nice, okay? He means well."

She knows why I'm upset. She can read me like a book. Really, she's only making this thing worse.

Newt does mean well though; at least she's right. I mean well too, and he should've told me. She takes my plate from me, placing the apple on it in my hands. "Eat it, alright? I couldn't handle having to go to the other Med-jacks for my problems."

She waits for me to bite into it, and as a gesture towards her faith, I do. So I take it someone told her about my fainting spell. At least somewhat pleased, Dawn heads back to the kitchen with both our plates in hand, greeting Frankie on her way there. From what I can hear from their laughter, Alby was right when he came to talk to me. Frypan is pissed at what they did to his poor oven.

As soon as she is turned around, my arm goes limp and the apple rolls on the ground. I managed one bite, but no more.

I get up to move, unsure of where to go or who to talk to. So, instead of moving, I awkwardly just stand. Trouble has a way of finding me, so I can be near sure it is around the corner.

Speaking of which, I can see Gally marching up to me. Without speaking, he grabs me by the sleeve and drags me up the stairs and into the Homestead. His grip on me hurts, and I try to rip myself from his grasp without causing a scene. That is the last thing I'd want to do when Alby is already suspicious enough of violence.

"Would you shucking let go before I report you?" I say, although he and I both know I am lying through my teeth.

He slams the door to the closet behind me, causing a bottle of bleach to fall off the shelf and spill out onto the floor.

"We had a deal," he begins, grabbing me and shoving me against a wall.

Yeah, we did. And Michelle isn't getting banished so I don't see his hold up. "She's fine. She's just upstairs."

"Yeah, and Alby's been looking for her since to interrogate her." He mutters, displeased. "She punched Doug in the face a few weeks ago, so Alby's starting to put klunk together. Go shack him up, or whatever it is you do to get him to back off."

"I'm not shacking him."

Gally doesn't like this response so much that he rips a shelf down. The contents of it fall and crash on top of me, and I slip on one of the spilt liquids. The shelf lands on top of me, and all of its contents puddle around me. Thankfully the bleach was the only cleaner stored in here (since most of the cleaning supplies in the Homestead are in the Med-room). My skin itches, but I don't have any burns. At least, not that I notice.

"Shuck," Gally mutters. He slips and falls in the chemicals himself. "Shuck."

He takes one look at me, before tearing off down the hallway. Coward.

I can't get up, giving the collapsed shelf on top of me, although I can't stay under here letting my clothing soak in the bleach. I'm going to have to throw out what I'm currently wearing. Thankfully, it is the old clothing.

Struggling, I grip my right hand along the wood of the floor, sliding myself out bit by bit. My skin is beginning to burn from the chemicals on me. I can't help it anymore. A scream rips its way out of my throat shattering the walls. No one is coming, because no one can hear me.

I can't move my left hand, nor can I even feel it. I continue to pull myself forward although with little progress. Everything tastes soapy and the gro No matter what I do, I can't move forward.

"Leo?" I hear heavy footsteps, as someone rushes in.

I kick my knee forward, trying to propel myself out, and knock over some other chemical. This one burns. Really burns. I need to get my clothing off. I need to get out of here. I'm sinking, or drowning, but I'm also on fire.

I can't do anything but scream. It's Michelle, and she moves in to pick something up, but immediately let's go of the, both heavy and covered in bleach, shelf. Of course it was metal, and of course she stares at her hands, panting heavily.

She wipes her hands on her pants, then on her shirt, then she stares at me before running off. I don't blame her. It shucking burns.

I can't even cry for help anymore, so I just scream. It's not words, but shrieking. I always thought there was no use for panic like this. No use for pain this ridiculous, but my body doesn't know what else to do except suffer.

Feet pound down the stairs, and down rushes a shirtless and pants-less Jeff, followed behind by a Clint who hastily does the buttons up on his shirt. Jeff steps forward to help, his feet falling in the bleach. He scrambles backwards, and he rips Clint's shirt off of him, wrapping it around his foot.

"She's covered in cleaning product." He says, pulling Clint back as he tries to simultaneously scrub his foot clean.

"Nobody touch it." Clint calls out to the door, which is opening. Gladers are running in, stopping dead in their tracks as they see the puddle on the ground.

My vision is blurring. Pain is taking over me and I am beginning to lose my sense of hearing. I'm going to be going into shock, I can feel it coming. My fingers are twitch, and all I can hear is my heart beating and thumping and pressing itself against my chest. It smells like fire, and like acid, and like lemon, and it smells like bone.

"Leo?" I can hear Newt's voice, and that is the only thing I can hear.

My body feels limp, but I can hear him getting closer. I am crying now, and, my voice is so hoarse from screaming it comes out in raspy, sharp sounds.

"Lee!" He is screeching for me, running closer and closer.

He slips on the ground, scrambling down next to me. I can see his face, and I try not to scream for his sake.

"Bloody Hell," he gets up, lifting the structure off of me. He pries it upright, before leaning down, placing his knees in the bleach before picking me up.

"Shuck, shuck, shuck," I can hear him muttering it as he lifts me off the ground. He manages to pull himself up, limping as he moves me. "Stay awake Leo, stay awake."

I can't stay awake, despite how hard I am trying. Slipping in and out of consciousness, I feel myself carried up the stairs.


	71. I'm spying

Dawn 70 

She wakes up slowly.

Second by second I watch her eyes peel open, fluttering softly, and I can't help but feel like a klunk friend for being too busy waiting for Minho in the Deadheads to notice her screaming in the Homestead.

Literally, every single other Glader had jammed himself into that hallway as she screamed, except for me. Including all the Runners. Including Minho, and I hadn't even noticed.

She has, from what I can tell, first degree burns on her legs and stomach, and second degree burns on her hands (though Jeff and Clint argued to that point, so they are very mild). Though most of her body should heal before the next Greenie comes, her hands are going to be burned forever. Although currently they are red and blistering, Clint believes eventually they will become white flecks along her hands, not unlike freckles.

Leo will have the stars in her skin.

Frypan excused me for the day, which doesn't quite make sense to me. It's not like I have first degree burns up and down my body. I am perfectly fine, but still. He said if he were me, and Leo any of the other original Gladers, he'd want to be here waiting. I don't think he understands the complicated relationship the four of us have.

"You're here," her eyes are slits when she opens them, staring up at me. She tries to pull herself up, but winces.

"Jeff!" I call out over my shoulder, and the boy comes rushing in.

He sits down next to me, taking Leo by her elbows and helping her sit up. He quickly explains to her in flashy medical terminology which I don't understand exactly what happened to her, her upcoming treatment, and her perspective recovery time. He ignores her every time she begins to speak, and when he is finally done she races in.

"Where is Newt?" Leo asks. "Is he hurt? I've got to go thank him."

"It'll just go to his head," Clint calls out from in the doorway. "Besides, the shank is dead asleep. Has been all night."

"Is he hurt?" She pulls her feet over the edge of the bed, placing her feet on the ground. She can't manage to pull herself up though, since I imagine she is aching all over.

"Slinthead got a few burns," Jeff mutters under his breath, almost like he's ashamed. From what I understand, although I don't know what Leo remembers, Newt was the only one who went in to save her. Apparently, a few is an understatement; his hands, knees, and all up his left side are covered in first degree. At least it doesn't get much worse than that for him.

"He's fine," while Jeff is sugar-coating, a soft and nice nature, Clint cuts in, firm and direct. Although, he too lies. "He'll come see you when I tell him he can. I haven't even decided if I'm letting Alby in here yet."

"I sure feel lucky," I mutter, glancing up at Jeff.

He smiles at me, finishing adjusting the bandages on Leo's hand.

"You didn't seem keen on interrogating her," Clint remarks, adjusting his shirt. "Of course, Alby is."

"Why?" Leo seems to be honestly asking.

Jeff gives her a puzzled look, before he starts rambling, as is typical with Jeff. "So, you see, you started screaming, and Clint and I were both butt-shucking naked-"

"Jeff," Clint warns, although he doesn't protest much.

"Please, the whole shucking Glade knows exactly what we get up to, for shucks sakes almost half of them have walked in on us and if Leo hasn't noticed by now she's a shucking idiot." He snaps back, turning his attention away from Clint and back to Leo. "Anyway, you were wailing for a solid few minutes. Michelle had burns on her hands that needed tending too, consistent with trying to lift the stuff off you, but she's in the Slammer until you can corroborate her story, which I am sure you can-"

"I'm not," Clint adds again, although Jeff simply rolls his eyes.

"Anyway," Jeff continues, "Alby wants to know who did it to you."

"Sorry?" She asks, "did what?"

"Well, we know damned well you didn't drop that shucking shelf on yourself, and Clint's got it in his and Alby's heads that most of the bleach was spilt before you went down, which begs the question: how did it fall? On top of that, he's thinking this is part of that whole pattern of klunk that happened with Ben getting his face smashed in, and Dawn too (although you have recovered well)," he turns his attention for me for just a second, before he continues rambling.

Shuck, I've got no idea how Lee puts up with this all day.

"Anyway, we've got Dawn here for moral support, since she's already been interrogated." He adds, looking over at Clint. "How long do we tell Alby he's got to wait?"

Clint shrugs, glancing down at his watch. "Five more minutes. They are talking about electing a new Runner."

A new Runner? Minho hadn't mentioned electing a new one since Ben sprained his ankle. I guess Alby wants more than a temporary replacement now. Frankie has been vying for the spot for six months, and I can't help but hope the Creators have mercy on us if Frankie manages to get it.

It makes sense though, considering today is Minho's first day off in a few weeks. He hates them from what I can tell, can't stand missing the action. I plan to at least eat lunch with him for once, when the interrogations over.

Clint leaves the room, gesturing for Jeff to follow. The rambunctious boy calls good luck over his shoulder as the door is shut.

"Newt was asking for you," Minho and I are trying to set Leo and Newt up, but it isn't working well. I have half a mind to think neither of them is interested in the opposite gender. Minho doesn't agree though, so I guess I'm trying to help wingman Newt now? "You should've seen the way he carried you up the stairs. Got himself nasty burns, the shank."

I am straight up lying to her face, although I doubt she can tell. She just shakes her head, muttering something under her breath that I don't catch. I should just give up on this whole, setting her up thing. I'd have a better job with trying to get Michelle and Ella together.

"They said I'm going to look like this forever," she glances down at her red hands. The sight makes me feel a bit queasy, but I stomach it for her.

I lean down, putting a hand on her shoulder, and drawing her attention away from her hands. "Not quite. It'll be white dots, not red blisters."

The tech they have here is pretty neat. They found some cream straight from the closet, and rubbed in on her hands. Jeff mentioned something similar happened to Nick, the old first-in-command, before the shank got murdered. They put the cream on and his hands just bleached in spots.

"Still," due to the heat, both her and I have wicked tans. Michelle's skin is pretty pale, so the spots might not have even shown up on her skin. "I mean," she begins to correct herself, "I guess it could be worse. Like, they could not have the medication, and I could have legit burn scars. Like way long ago."

I don't know the name of the guy who invented the technology, but if anyone did it'd be her.

"Well, we're lucky then," as long as she is happy, I've done my part. The sooner I can get out of here the better. Nothing against Leo, just everything against being stuck in the Med room all day. It's boring as shuck.

There is a knock at the door, but Alby doesn't wait for an answer before he barges in.

"Dawn?" He asks, curious. "Aren't you supposed to be in the Kitchen?"

I see Minho over his shoulder, looking at me just as puzzled. I hadn't told Minho I would be here with Leo. Didn't think it really mattered, considering he normally is gone all day. Minho smiles when he sees me, although me attempts to hide the grin by pressing his lips together.

"I start back up again after lunch." I blatantly lie in his face, but I get away with it because Alby has no reason to doubt me. The kitchen staff have both weird and inconsistent hours, which is why some of them double up on other jobs.

"Can Leo and I have the room?" Alby asks, carefully. "We need to talk for a few minutes."

He doesn't need to talk to me like I'm some child. I have half a mind to snap at him, but I don't. Some part of me knows that it isn't going to be productive. For a second, I wish I had the guts of Michelle, since I really want to smash him in the face. Instead, I give him a nod and walk out of the room, shutting the door behind me.

I sit down on the ground, pressing my back against the wall next to the door. My ear goes firmly against the crack, as I listen to Alby mumbling to Leo. Its difficult to hear.

"We spyin'?" Minho sits down next to me, and laces his fingers in mine. Out of the corner of my eye I see him carefully checking the hallway for anyone. "Shuck shank, didn't think you're that interested in Leo."

I don't know that I am. "They're talking about Ben.

They are. The pair of voices are muffled through the door, but I can make out their voices. Leo's better than Alby's. When he speaks, his low tones stretch and sink into each other. "You know, I thought I could trust you more than any of those other girl Greenies you got. Apparently, I ain't right about that, huh?"

"I don't know who hurt Ben," Leo is a klunk liar, so you can completely see through her words. "Nor do I know who hurt Dawn. I thought you decided she fell?"

"You're the one who called that out as klunk," I can hear his voice rising as it clambers over hers. His one bites back, almost like he is asking a question. I didn't realize Leo and Alby knew each other well enough to cause the other confusion. He stops lowering his voice. "You were the one who wanted to pursue into it when I dropped it, so what changed."

"You arrested Michelle," Leo seems like she is going to argue, but instead she sighs. "I mean, I wanted an investigation, not a witch-hunt. I told you both Michelle didn't do it."

"You have been distant before that. Ever since Ben got beat. In fact, you've been avoiding me every chance you've gotten." I can hear him dragging something across the floor. Is that a chair?

I almost expect Minho to speak to me, or even to wince, knowing what trouble we've gotten Leo into, but he doesn't say anything. He kneels quietly, listening.

Leo just keeps her mouth shut. Maybe she realises she is a terrible liar.

"Now," Alby begins, although he sighs. "You want to tell me who threw those supplies on you? Or are you going to lie to my face about it?"

Leo pauses, thinking. I wait for her to crack, to say it was Ben. It had to be him, right? I didn't get a chance to ask but I'm certain it had to be. Who else would it have been?

"We should get Newt," Minho offers to me in a quiet voice but I shake my head. "He'll know what to do, Dee."

I out a finger to my lips, and he quiets down. I offer him a faint smile, squeezing his hand. Minho kiss my forehead in return. Albeit reluctantly, he gets up and moves himself away from the door.

"I was trying to get supplies, and they fell on me," she says it so quietly for a second I can't hear her voice. "Not everything is some conspiracy Alby."

"That's a load of klunk I ain't buying." He drags the thing away again. His feet move along the ground quietly and calmly. He is moving towards the door. "Now, tomorrow you and I are going to eat lunch together. We're going to be discussing what happens when the Greenbean shows up, if any shank asks. What is going to happen, is you are going to tell me what shank needs to be banished for this."

"Seriously Alby?" Her voice rings out, almost quavering.

"Don't get upset," I can hear Alby sighing. The worst part of this is that we've made him out to be the villain this isn't his fault. I started this mess by getting with Minho, and then not telling anyone about Ben, and this whole thing has just spiralled out of control. He's just trying to fix this mess. "If not, I wish I didn't, but I'm going to have to banish Michelle."

"She didn't do it," Leo interjects. She groans as she tries to stand up.

"Really?" Alby asks, his voice incredulous. "She found Dawn, which is suspicious enough. I overheard her talking to Gally about getting her and a couple other people banished, and how Ben's givin' her dirty looks. Never mind the fact that she has chemical burns on her hands just like yours. Listen, I don't have klunk out for her or you, but we've got shucking rules for a reason. I can't let violence break out, or the Glade will shuckin' go down in flames, and if you don't tell me what, it'll be her sleepin' with 'em Grievers instead of the person who really is responsible."

I can feel his hand on the doorknob, and I move away from it as quickly as possible.


	72. I'm stopping

Michelle 71

I find myself pouring over the schematics Gally has created. He is busy directing some of the Builders, although I'd say his directions are closer to yelling. Which is fair, because none of them are paying any attention.

Doug hasn't stopped glaring at me since I punched him in the face, although Ben has died down. He doesn't seem particularly bothered by me anymore than any of the other Builders are.

"Making any sense?" Gally looks over at me, crouching on the ground.

I can't really make eye contact with him. Like, some pit in my stomach is weighing me down to the ground, like some really heavy thing. I'm not that good with metaphors, nor am I good with feelings. I look up to see Dave winking at me, and I only feel a bit worse.

What happened to me being better than both of them? It's not like I'm not good enough for David, but it's also not that I am good enough for him, you know? I exist in this sort of in-between, where I am not nice enough, or normal enough for him, but he isn't fun enough for me. He isn't flames and arguing and plotting like Gally and I.

Which is why I feel weird with Gally's face hanging so close to mine. David, for some reason, seems to trust me with Gally, even though I have kissed him before and all but admitted to having some sort of awkward thing going on with the guy.

Gally doesn't bother with apologising, which I appreciate. I don't know how I could handle more touchy-feely emotional displays. If push comes to shove, Gally and I might just end up ripping our clothes off in a corner of the Glade.

I mean, whatever.

The newness of me being back at work has worn off. I slipped out for three days, to take a break or whatever. I can't even remember what I did. The days sort of blurred together, while I hid out in the Deadheads. Since David and I, or, I guess, I don't know.

I've been back for the last two days. Captain Gally wants all hands-on-deck, so to speak, while we lay down the flooring. We're hoping the Creators are sending up more tiles tomorrow with the Greenie. They ignored Gally's request last time.

Also, some pipes would be nice, or perhaps even a toilet. They didn't fulfill any of Gally's requests. I don't know why we are still building this when I don't think we are getting up the Supplies I need. They'd need to essentially pack the Greenie in a two by two by two foot box to get us what we want.

It reminds me of the Pipsqueak, and there is no apparent reason why.

I shrug, "I guess."

The plan makes sense, but also it doesn't. I have a feeling, a very strong one in my gut, that we will never finish building this. The feeling doesn't stem from my inherent pessimism either. It's some other weird location.

"It'll make more sense once we get deeper into it," I think he is referring to his messy scrawl, but honestly that's not what I'm not understanding.

I don't know what it is I don't understand anymore.

"Let's break for lunch," Gally tosses the thought over his shoulder.

Hammers and materials fall to the ground. The boys are quick to leave, though I don't blame them. Though we've laid the skeleton for the bathroom addition, we can't line its skin. We've got no flooring, no insulation, and barely any drywall left. It's not like they are sending anything new up to help either.

I can feel someone walking over, before I notice it is David. He looms behind me, and I can't bring myself to get up and face him.

Gally stands up to face him, and that's what makes me find my feet and stand up. Klunk, klunk, klunk. Dominating his face is Gally's smirk, and he raises one eyebrow. For a second, I think he is going to start laughing, but then he begins to speak. "What are you waiting for, David?"

Dave doesn't smirk as he glances from Gally to myself. I'd been able to avoid this until now. Quietly working in the corner, silently avoiding the two of them until Gally breaks for lunch. Of course, both want to talk to me, but I'm perfectly content to ignore the two of them until further notice.

"I had a question for Mich," David uses his nickname for me as he purses his lips together.

In a flash, Gally shoves him back, until he collides with the wooden structure of the bathroom. Dave flies into the wood, and it splinters around him. An entire wall crashes down in front of the boy as he scrambles backwards. Thankfully the Homestead remains unharmed, and thankfully we are at the back for no one to see this mess.

"Gal, what's your shucking deal?" Dave stands up, brushing his arms off carefully. He tries not to curl in on himself, but I can see from the way he holds his hand at the base of his spine how much that hurt him.

"Shuck off, would you?" Gally shouts back at Dave. He moves into the wooden structure, holding himself up on the wood. "She isn't interested."

"Yeah, sure," Dave counters, although he brushes it off. I hate, for some reason, that he doesn't feel the need to tell Gally about two nights ago, or about anything else. I hate that he is a bigger person than I could ever dream to be.

"Could you slintheads handle yourselves for five shucking minutes?" I demand, looking around to see if anyone noticed. Newt is, thankfully incapacitated and Alby is dealing with whatever. Nobody is anywhere near the bathrooms, since they've all went to get food. Still, if they are going to fight they should do it somewhere they won't get shucking caught. "I'm not getting banished, so quit behaving like shuckin' animals."

Gally ignores me, moving closer into Dave. He grabs the boy by his shirt, pulling him in closer. Though David is a could half a foot taller than Gally, Gally's grip makes every muscle in my body still. Dave may not be flinching, but I can feel myself bracing for what is coming next.

"Back off," Gally's threat is firmer than any fist he could've thrown Dave's way.

Dave shoves off Gally, sending him stumbling into the broken bones of the structure. He crashes down into the wooden pile, and Dave steps off him. Then, Dave runs a hand through his shaggy sandy brown hair, shaking his head back and forth.

"Don't touch me Gal," David doesn't utter threats, he politely warns. Dave doesn't smile, although he sighs as if he is resigned to the violence.

We are all resigned to it. The grass grows from the fertilizer of threat, and the vines from intimidation. The Maze is built on fear, its walls shifting and enclosing us until there is nothing left but our fists and our nature. Violence doesn't stem from the need to survive, although the need allows it to fester and spread.

Violence is the oxygen that pumps our lungs. Dave manages to resist its temptation in a gesture both noble and futile.

When Gally stands up, I find myself jumping in. It's impossible to be impartial, but I am trying. This is hard enough without their feelings jumping in and getting mixed up in this. Feelings have no place in love and war.

"Listen, the next shank who hits the other is getting beat up by me." I spit, staring Gally down.

"This isn't just about you," Gally notes, crossing his arms over his chest.

Who the shuck is Nick? I don't know pretty much anybody's name here that I can't help forgetting, but I wonder if I'd remember a shank named Nick.

"Mich- what the shuck is this?" Dawn rounds the corner, but scoots back as soon as she sees the mess we've caused. "Yo, this isn't shucking good. Where is Leo when I shucking...."

She groans, placing a hand over her eyes as she looks up. "Seriously Dave? Since when do you hit people?"

Uncrossing his arms, Dave looks a bit embarrassed. Gally, on the other hand, looks miffed that Dawn decides to show up all of right now.

"The shuck are you doing here?" He growls, his anger still holding him.

"Relax," I call over my shoulder at Gally. "She won't snitch."

She won't, so long as she wants to stay alive. Man, what's my potential banish count at?

Dave, Gally, myself, Dawn, Minho, and Ben at least. Minimum six of us. Maybe, if Alby is extra pissed that we've all been lying to him (although that isn't really his MO, since he is secretly a nice shank) he'll banish Leo and Newt too.

And that's just me. I don't know about what klunk Dawn, Leo, and Ella are mixed up in.

Dawn moves forward, pulling me in close to her. She whispers in my ear, carefully and quietly, "Alby wants to banish you tomorrow, because of Ben. We've got to come up with a plan."

I back up carefully, moving away from her. She's serious? He was just cool with me a few days ago when he put me in the Slammer, and he never interrogated me for his klunk investigation. He apologised for trying to get me banished that one time, so I thought he'd be done by now.

Dawn wouldn't lie to me about something so ridiculous. It's a professional courtesy amongst liars and cheats, I guess. Maybe she's worried that if I'll snitch on her.

I wouldn't though. I don't think I like her, but like, that would just cause a lot of drama and emotions that I'm not prepared for. If I'm going to be banished, I'd like to do so quickly and quietly, and maybe kill a Bagger or two in the process.

"I'm not taking you down too," I'm trying to think of a way to get Ben banished that doesn't get everyone else banished as well, but there isn't one.

I'm the only piece that can be removed without bringing everything else down as well. This isn't good. Like, it isn't.

Leo would have some sort of plan, but she's been way out of it since she almost got all her skin removed via bleach. I guess we could ask Newt, but he might rat us out to Alby. The two are practically best friends up until late since Newt's been sneaking around with us.

"There's nowhere I can think of to escape," Dawn notes. "Unless you want to take your chances with the Maze."

"The what?" David moves in closer, stepping up beside me to listen to Dawn. "You want to run off into the Maze?"

I'm not a shucking idiot. Even though the majority of life pretty much sucks, I am not about to become a shucking gravestone in the Deadheads. Besides, Alby showed me what those shucking Grievers look like. No thanks.

"There's no escape," Gally chimes in, although he is pretty much huffing as he does so.

Yeah, I shucking noticed, but thanks Gally for the contribution. Neither Dawn nor I are good at coming up with plans. I'm going to be banished, unless we can find someone else to pin all this klunk on. The question is, who?


	73. I'm tuning

Ella 72 

Leo isn't sleeping. I only know because I can hear her crying. When I crack open her door though, she stops sniffling to look at me.

"Ella?" She asks, tentatively, as if I'd have forgotten my own name.

Granted, I might have. Whatever Clint's been giving me to keep me calm has me seeing the world in muted colour. Somehow the situation is worse now.

"Hey Leo," I close the door behind me. Today is the first day I've been able to stand up in a long time. I don't remember much, except for Zart, the Med-jacks, and the girls. Some boy came in to check on me today. It was their leader, and I recognized myself in his skin but could not remember his name. Nor could I digest his words.

"How are you feeling?" She sits up, groaning. It never occurred to me she must be injured.

I shrug, since I am not feeling bad or good. Moving carefully, I lie down next to her on the bed. "Leo, I remember."

"I know," she places one of her hands-on mine. He skin is rough in certain spots, but the feeling makes me realise we are real. All of this is real. I can't keep hiding behind these visions and searching for the truth when I am ruining the mission. "I figured, since Clint has kept you locked up for days."

I nod, happy that she believes me.

It isn't like the Changing. Those boys remember things I don't, and forget things I do. I remember the four of us, and I remember our goal but not our plan. I remember the boy who I believe is to come up tomorrow morning, and I remember the girl who still lingers on my skin.

"Do you remember how the four of us got here," she stares up at the ceiling, and every breath she takes causes the air to crumble around her. "why just us girls, and why all four of us at once?"

"I catch glimpses that I don't understand," I tell her. "Conversations with no bodies anchoring them to reality, and scenes with no dialogue to support them. I remember Michelle carrying me through a hallway. We were fleeing. I remember you picked a lock."

"But you don't remember why?" Leo's mind is elsewhere, but she continues to let me speak. She is too wrapped up in situations with no gravity. Her voice is cracking, as if she has more questions to ask, but her lips quaver and her eyes water.

"I can assume," we were running to come here. I can remember the metal gun in my hand. In the center of the base of their necks, although just to the right on mine. It didn't attach properly, which is why I imagine no one has stopped me from saying anything. They have partial control over my actions, just as I have partial memory of mine.

I don't think it's really sinking into her head. She seems like she is drowning in the Glade. Not panicked, like I know her to be, but overwhelmed. Two nights before we left, she was like this.

"I don't know if this is right," her chest is tightening and compressing in on itself as she struggles to breathe. "I mean, he says they aren't that bad."

"He lies," I have no time for her niceties. If she is going through some crisis as she decides where her allegiances lie, I have no time for it. They are sending up the next boy. It is now or never, regardless of her feelings.

"Take it up with one of the others if you have a problem," I try to move past her, since I am supposed to meet up with him soon. I need to go.

"Ellie, you know I can't," her pleas stop me, although I know she can, she chooses not to. This choice jeopardizes all which we stand for.

I forget why I didn't empathize with the girl in front of me. Though I currently find myself upset that she fails to recognize what is and isn't important, back then the feeling was magnified and amplified three decibels louder. It was the only thing I could feel; passion for the cause.

"Michelle, doesn't get it, and you know Dawn..."

It was to avoid the possibility of losing her.

"Don't talk to me like I don't know pain."

"I remember you," I tell her, quietly, so as to distract her from all that is happening. And to distract me from knowing who I was. "You didn't look much different, except you looked somehow happier. You were the happiest out of all four of us, actually."

"Not Dawn?" She asks.

I shake my head. We have all lost things, and she had lost most out of all of us. I still had hope. I still have hope. Dawn... was complicated. Besides, maybe it is best they forget somethings. Not I though, since I can handle it. No matter what the truth is, I must know.

"I have to make a choice," she begins her story, calmly and quietly. Every word slips off her tongue until it compiles on the ground. It fills the space, since there are no drains, until we are drowning in her thoughts. They pour out the window and on to the ground deep below, and when she is finally done, there is nowhere for the thoughts to drain. Instead, they pool and around us and I try to stay afloat.

"None of this will matter in two days," it is the only answer I can give her, because I am trying to keep my head above water. Now, she is the one who others must come to me for help. I don't understand how everything has been lost and found within four weeks.

For some reason, the fact that it doesn't matter makes her sink into the mattress beneath her.

"We don't have two days to wait," she doesn't bother to ask why it won't matter. I don't even think she believes me. No one ever believes me and I hate this. This disgusting feeling possesses me and traps me down to the ground. "No one else knows but me, and I have to do something."

She doesn't have to, and although I hate it, she can die and we will move on. As long as one of us stays alive, our goal will be achieved. If I can wait just a few weeks longer, I can have her again. If I can wait it out a few days, I can find her.

In any lifetime, in any alternate form of reality, in any world where there are more Cranks than men, I will find her and love her.

For I hate that the world had to take her away for me to realise exactly how much I needed her to breath.

It's his fault. Though they say his name, I can't stand it.

He watched them burn. Although he said it killed him, it didn't kill him enough. He would've let four more boys show up and take them all. He would've let them be destroyed and melted away in the rain that never hits the ground, since we are under ground.

I am a coward.

I blame his partner, although she could have been me. She did nothing wrong, but I could feel her ruthlessness in my skin.

It doesn't matter though, since some of us were just as cut-throat.

It is a matter of sides, and we are going to die. We are going to burst in flames, and some will become cranks and others won't live long enough to even understand the word.

All I can hope is to see her once more. For she is a violet sunset on my long and painful journey.


	74. I'm banished

Leo 73

I move to sit at a table, folding my arms in my lap, then over themselves, then back in my lap again. The sight of the crusting burns makes me feel ill. I feel sicker knowing Alby is coming to talk to me about his whole secret situation. I don't know what to tell him. All night I sat awake, thinking of a plan, but none came to mind. All I can do is sit, my life on hold until his arrival.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be late," he sighs, sitting down. "I was just having a conversation with Winston."

I don't particularly care about that conversation. It's not on my list of things I need to know. I should have eaten today. Perhaps if I faint I can stall out Michelle's banishment. Maybe, while I'm asleep, I'll have some sort of epiphany like I imagine Ella does every time she closes her eyes.

"Are you feeling alright Leo?" He sits down across from me, eyeing me carefully. This is the most amount of concern Alby has shown for anything except the rules since I first got here. "You look like you shuckin' saw a Griever."

Well, if we mean griever like we mean someone who is mourning a loss, then yes, I did in fact look in the mirror today. I have seen someone grieving. I just haven't decided who I am grieving yet. Is it Michelle or is it everything I have ever seen? It feels like I have lost.

Although, there is not much to lose anyway. There's not much worth it here.

"I just, I need to tell you the truth," I breathe out, and breathe in. I think of my lungs rustling the trees like the wind, their leaves falling onto the tombstones below. Do we give graves to those we banish? Will there be a spot for the griever to visit, a ghost of a girl visiting a ghost of a girl like a poem I don't want to read? Like a poem I wish I wasn't the author of? Why is this life so hard, and why does Ella think this is the easy part?

"I'm listening Leo," he sighs, before he leans in closer to me. "Listen, shuck, I miss Nick. He's less of a shuckin' slinthead than I am, and he'd know what I should say."

"What happened?" The empathy in me takes over. If I can listening to a chorus of his suffering, maybe it'll drown out mine.

He shakes his head. "Story for another day. One where we've put all this stuff behind us."

Right, he doesn't want to think about it. I can tell from the way his eyes move to the wood on the picnic table, as if it's the most fascinating thing he has ever seen. We all have our pain, and I guess he'd rather forget his.

"Sorry," it's all I manage.

"Listen, shank," he sighs, although he doesn't seem to upset about this situation. "I ain't got all day, and if you're gonna waste my shuckin' time-"

"It was me," I stand up suddenly, trying to breathe. "I beat up Ben."

He gets up, pulling his legs out of the picnic table. "You really think I'm buggin' out that hard?"

"I swear," I race around the table, planting myself in front of him. Alby is much taller than me, and he crosses his arms over his chest as he stares me down, not buying my klunk.

That's fair. I'm not buying much either.

"Please tell me exactly how you, little miss skin and bones, beat up Ben."

Ben isn't a particularly big guy, but he's certainly more muscular than I am. Then I think about how easily Michelle can take anybody else in her path. Her anger; she feels it in her gut and it carries her. Somehow the passion overtakes her body, and becomes the power to her punch.

I can pretend I'm the same.

"I thought Ben attacked Dawn," I tell him carefully, "he didn't, as it turns out, but he attacked Michelle when he was shucked in the head the first night, so I thought he hurt Dawn too right? Things aren't nearly as complicated as we think they are. Things tend to have the simplest answers when we don't see them coming."

"So, you what, hit him?" He asks, doubting me.

I shake my head, "I found out from Ella, although she's pretty belligerent, that you don't lock the supplies up at night. I stole a shovel. I was just gonna scare Ben, but he was yelling at me, and I got all bugged out. It wasn't Michelle."

"And Ben didn't tell me because?" Alby waits for my response.

"Have you met Ben?" I turn around to see Gally coming forward. His eyes only catch mine for a second before he turns back to Alby. "He's the proudest shuck-faced shank I ever met. Always going to Fry to shuckin' wine his bugging mouth off."

Why is he here? How did he know we were going to have this conversation? Gally remains stoic as he looks at Alby, unfazed. This is the Gally I knew was under all that hard skin. Granted, he may be trying to get me banished, but he must know the alternative. I appreciate his help. Gally cares about the Gladers more than anything I've ever seen before. This is why he's one of the Keepers.

"Eavesdropping Gally?" Alby asks, glaring at the boy.

"I'd call it overhearing," Gally argues. "You aren't exactly keeping it quiet, are ya shank?"

Alby shrugs, looking from Gally to me. He seems to be buying the store, even if I can't lie to save my life. Gally is holding up the fort on my end. "So what Gally, you knew the whole time about this?"

"No, I just overheard the conversation," Gally rolls his eyes. "I have an invested interesting in seeing those girls banished, if you recall."

Gally, for some reason, thought we were in with the Creators. Either he has completely changed his mind, or he has something else in store. Never before, and hopefully never again, will I be thankful for Gally's paranoid tendencies.

"So what, you spilt the cleaning supplies on yourself?" Alby asks, as though he is doubting it.

"That's actually what I came here to talk about." I am so thankful Gally has taken over the conversation. Not only is he a much better liar, but Alby seems to trust him more than me.

Gally shows Alby his hands, covered in chemical burns. Is he admitting to doing it? I wasn't going to rat out Gally, since I didn't think it as worth it because I know it was an accident. I could see Michelle doing the same thing in different contexts. One act of desperation is not the same as deliberate violence.

Alby steps in closer to stare at the burns. They aren't as bad as mine, and I imagine not as bad as Newt's either, but they still aren't amazing. Michelle's probably look the same.

"Michelle and I tried to lift off the shelving unit together," Gally corroborates our story. "Or not together, but we found her. Ran off to wash our hands."

"I dropped the unit on myself, like I told you," I pretend to be frustrated, but the pretend anger still sinks into my stomach. I am not angry, I am nervous. I've not been in the Slammer since my first day here. Seems fitting I might spend my last day in it.

Part of me wants to drop the shelving unit on myself again. To feel is to feel.

Alby places a hand on his chin as he thinks over the story. He doesn't like it, but he doesn't have to like it. I don't know where I'm going with this. I want to throw up all over myself. I can feel myself losing balance, but I feel Gally's hand on my arm. He lowers me down to the table, not gently but at least he isn't aggressive.

"Yeah, I'm not buying your klunk," Alby begins. "At least, not about the whole Ben and Dawn fiasco."

I can't really speak to argue with him, since the whole world has kind of gone pretty much black.

Gally hands me flask that is around his waist, and I shrug it off him. He rolls his eyes, placing it in my hands. "It's not going to shuck you up. It's just water."

I take a swig of it, and find myself unable to stop until there is no water left in the container. When I'm done I hand it back to Gally.

"You coverin' for Michelle or Dawn?" Alby asks it straight, but I can't bring myself to answer him. Somehow, I find myself in a spot where the answer is yes. Maybe covering isn't the right word, but sacrificing might be closer.

"It's the truth," I tell him.

He kneels in front of me, so that we can see eye to eye. Staring in to me, he searches for an answer. "Gally, leave. And if you tell Michelle a shuckin' word of this, I'll actually have you banished for touchin' her."

Gally backs off. I can't see him, but I can imagine his frustration and anger. I wonder if he will tell Michelle, or I wonder if he'll keep his mouth shut. Knowing Gally, both seem equally likely. Both cannot happen though, so of course one will happen.

"I don't believe you for one shuckin' second." Alby's face is so close to mine it's hard to discern the differences between our skin. "I'm not that jacked. I have half a mind to throw you off the Cliff for suggesting something so shuckin' slintheaded. Mind ya, I like you too. Very few people could get away with this klunk."

Alby shakes his head, waiting for my answer. "Honestly, what kind a shuckin' shank ya take me for? You're a klunk liar."

"Yeah," I sigh. "I know."

He moves away slowly, before sitting down next to me. "Tell you what, apparently threatening your grubby friends ain't the way to do it Greenie, since you just decide to throw yourself under the bus, I take it I can't threaten you no more."

"I'm barely a Greenie." I shrug as I offer it, although I know that's not the point of this conversation.

"Slim it," he says it, and then he allows the silence to settle on us. "Look around us."

Nobody is paying much mind to our conversation. The break for lunch is pretty much entirely over, and people are relishing in their last minutes of freedom. Clint and Jeff sit together, and whatever Jeff has just said made Clint turn a sheet of bright red. Fry is talking to Minho, who for some reason is still off from running, and Michelle, Dawn and Ella are nowhere to be found.

"Do you see him?" Alby asks carefully.

I do. Newt is pretending to pay attention to the conversation he is having with Zart, but I can see his eyes darting over to us. His hands are wrapped up in bandages, and from the bulk under his pants I imagine his knees are too.

I never had the chance to thank him. I haven't seen him in days, since well before I got burnt. Last I saw Newt, before all that, he was apologising for not telling me Michelle was locked up. That seems so long ago, it hardly matters now.

Before that, he sat with me outside of Ella's room late at night.

Now, his glance catches me out of the corner of his eyes. He's listening. I wonder what Alby told him about this meeting, if anything. Does Alby know Newt is in on it?

"Newt's got a big heart," Alby remarks carefully, "and I hate to do this to the shank, but he knows what's happening I'll bet. Just like you do. If he were anyone else I'd think he was shuckin' in love with you. But, as I'm sure he told you..."

Neither of say it out loud, since its neither of our places, but I guess he knows Newt loved him. Which means he will never care for me.

"How long have you known?" I ask Alby.

He shrugs, carefully. "Since Newt got his limp. That too is a story for another day."

I still haven't asked Newt about how it happened. I get that he was a Runner, so I assume it happened in the Maze. He seems as though he'd rather forget about it, so I try my best not to bring it up.

Newt must've tipped off Alby on that day. I guess it doesn't matter how Alby figured out that Newt loved him, but he knows all the same. Obviously, Alby doesn't feel the same, or else they'd be thick as Clint and Jeff.

"Why are you telling me this?" Everything Alby says has a point. He doesn't just make casual conversation; that's not the kind of guy he is.

"Newt is a good shank," he admits, turning to face me. "But he's hiding klunk from me, and him and I ain't like that. I'm going to throw you in the Slammer."

He won't tell Alby the truth. Newt is a good person, but he knows this is what I would want. He also wouldn't want Minho banished, and even though he and Dawn aren't that close, he wouldn't let her get banished either.

"That's not going to work," I tell Alby, and he can tell I'm not lying.

"It might if we are about to banish you," Alby tells me. "I'll tell Newt to call the Gathering. If he doesn't rat, unfortunately, you'll be sleepin' with 'em Grievers."

Alby doesn't wait another second, before he stands up, grabbing me by the arm. He begins to drag me towards the Slammer, and I don't bother to put up a fight. It isn't worth it.


	75. I'm going

Dawn 74

Dave and I are sitting together on break when Newt comes up. He seems nervous, paler than usual (which is odd since he's pretty pasty to begin with). "Dawn, do you have a minute?"

"Not really," I am still trying to figure out what to do with Michelle.

Alby might banish her today. At least, he said he would. As of now, she's playing it cool and Gally is supposed to go talk down Alby. That was the only thing I could think to do with both Newt and Leo out for the count. I'm not very good with plans.

I could've told Minho, but I didn't want him to worry. He's already got a lot on his plate since he is training Ben today for his re-entrance. This morning he threatened to literally split Ben's head open. We've got enough trouble on our hands without getting him more strung out.

"It's important," Newt bites the inside of his cheek, a habit he seems to have picked up from Leo.

I didn't tell him about the situation either, since I thought he'd tell Minho, and because he was trapped in the Med-room for most of yesterday.

"Who's getting banished?" Dave asks. "Is it just her?"

Just, as if more than one.

Newt's face somehow becomes paler. "What are you talking about?" He's not a very good liar.

"Michelle told me some things," Dave clarifies. He couldn't have heard yesterday about what I said about Ben. What did she tell him about us? Enough, I guess, to compromise us. When Dave stepped up to help yesterday, I assumed that Dave thought Alby had caught him and Michelle in a compromising position, and that's why we're hiding her. Although, I don't know why I believed that. As far as I know, she's only doing Gally, but I could be wrong.

Especially since they shucking broke a structure because of how pissed they were at each other, and then suddenly teamed up once they found out Michelle was in danger. She has at least shacked one of them is my guess, but I doubt both. They don't seem that mad about it.

Newt doesn't miss a beat. He sits on the ground next to us staring at Dave. "What things?"

This is very different from the soft Newt who assured me that Alby banned girls and boys from touching for good reason. This isn't frustrated Newt, or certain and quick to action Newt. He is speaking a kilometer a minute, and he keeps fidgeting with him hands.

"He rattin'?" Dave looks to me, and I almost snort. As if Newt would rat us out on something like this.

"Please, the only reason any of us are still alive is because of Newt," I tell Dave, looking at Newt. He gives me a faint and thankful smile as his cheeks flush.

"It was a combined effort," he assures Dave. "But now isn't the-"

"Please, at least four of us would definitely be dead by now if not for him, you can tell him." I roll my eyes, playfully shoving him.

Dave pauses, looking back and forth between us. I doubt Dave knows Newt well. Though he is well liked, Dave doesn't have many close friends. He gets along with all the Cooks, all the Builders, and from what I gather, a couple of the Sloppers.

He's always nice to the Greenie who showed up before us, even though Frypan hates it. The kid, Chuck, is always stealing food.

"Michelle told me that she could accidentally get at least three people banished," Dave says. "But, now, if I am counting correctly, she's at five."

Five? I can only think of four. "Who's the fifth?"

"That's what I don't know," Dave doesn't continue, and he must mean himself and Gally. As two of them, but I'm confused. For certain, it's myself, Michelle, Minho, Ben. Adding him and Gally on would mean six. He's missing one of us, or I guess two if he can only think of four.

"We're at a few more than five," Newt seems sad about it, but he's right. "I'm not entirely sure Alby won't have a few more heads in, just because the shank's bloody pissed. He's already locked up Leo."

"I get that he's pissed," we've been lying to the poor chum for like, two shucking weeks now. I'd be right off my rocker about the whole mess too, if I were him. "Not like there is much we can do now."

"So, this is about Ben right?" Dave asks, trying to clarify. "I mean, I figured Michelle beat him up and you're all covering for her, but I don't really get why so many of you are protecting her." I think he realizes how self-serving he sounds and he is quick to fix himself. "Not that I think it's a bad idea. I know you all voted to save her when she was about to be banished. Shuck, I said I stole the screwdriver even though I didn't-"

"You didn't?" Newt seems surprised, which I guess is fair. I thought it was obvious that Dave was lying. He's a decent enough liar, but there was no shucking way he stole it. "I didn't think you were the kind to lie."

"I thought you were Mr. Rules. Suddenly a bunch of girls show up and you think its all different?" Dave asks.

Newt shakes his head. He's still Mr. Rules, but this is going to get a ton of people banished. Newt absolutely wants Ben gone for his violence, and at least wants Minho punished for going to town on the kid, even if they are friends. It's a can of worms though, but I'm not sure what I mean when I say that. One secret spills, and we are all banished for the dumb shucking 'girls don't touch boys' rule.

Dave continues. "Still, I didn't think more than five people would stick out their necks for her. I figured out that Ben attacked Dawn, but why not just rat him out instead of this whole fuss? What does he have on you?"

Newt looks at me, his eyes wide. I can't tell if he is surprised Dave figured it out this quickly, or worried that others have too, or if he is waiting to see if I answer him. I don't really have any good answer for this situation though. I shucked up, since I was shacking around with Minho, and now everybody is dealing with the consequences. If everyone had left me to solve this mess on my own, I'd have been fine.

"He knows I've been shacking somebody," when I see the gears in Dave's head begin to whirl, I stick my hand up in protest. "Not Newt, obviously. I guess, not obviously, but to be honest I know you better than him."

Which is saying something, since I barely know Dave. Even though I spend so much time with so many people, its all superficial. I don't have any meaningful friendships.

"Wait," I pause, turning back to Newt. "Did you say that Leo was in the Slammer?"

Newt nods carefully, and I find myself on my feet, sprinting. I was waiting for Gally to get back to me and tell me the plan, but I assumed they were still talking. What did he and Leo say to Alby? She is a klunk liar, so she couldn't have taken the plan. Gally set her up.

I find myself moving. It's only just past lunch. They have a few hours before they can banish her at least, so I have time. I need to talk to Minho. He will know what to do.

I find Minho, timing the intervals it takes for Ben to run across one end of the Glade to another. I find myself catching up to the speed of Ben, and even surpassing his legs as I sprint towards Minho. Once Minho looks up and notices me, he stops timing. He runs towards me, ignoring Ben to catch up to me.

"What's wrong?" He asks, looking over my shoulder.

I notice Newt limping along behind me, trying to catch up. Dave is nowhere to be found. "Did Alby come and talk to you?"

He shakes his head, panting slightly. "No why?"

"They are going to banish Leo," I begin. "I mean, I don't know the details, but it's about Ben."

Minho looks over at the boy, who stands close to us, listening to every word. His face has finally healed, but from the look on Minho's face, he might get a few more bruises. "Look what you've shucking done. All because you can't shucking stop getting shucked every night!"

Ben looks taken aback, though he spits out at Minho. "You're the one who broke the shuckin' rule! You touched 'em when you were told not too. You jacked dude?"

Minho tries to shove me off of him, but I rip him back. "Oh Minho, now is not the time to shucking pick a fight-"

"I ain't picking nothing!" He rips himself out of my hand, turning to stare at me. "I break one shuckin' dumb rule and he thinks he is entitled to you, like you're some shuckin' meal?"

Newt has finally caught up to us, his hands in the air. He steps between Minho and Ben, trying to get the guy to back off. I can't tell if Newt is going to hit Ben or Minho. It occurs to me that Newt doesn't hate violence. In fact, he seems more than fine with getting his hands dirty. He's just all about keeping the peace, since that's all we have.

"You hit Ben, and we are all shuckin' dead meat, alright?"

I watch as Minho's chest heaves up and down. What destroyed the boy who was so kind and funny when I first got here, and why can't I have him back?

"This ain't for your ugly shuckin' mug, alright?" Minho hollers at Ben over my shoulder, who is already leaping over Newt's shoulder trying to have at Minho. "This is for Leo, alright? Her life, not yours, alright?"

Dave arrives, with Michelle at his side. He moves to Newt quickly, pulling Ben off of him. "Will you go and fix this klunk? I'll handle him."

Newt nods, backing off.

I guess that's how the four of us head into the Homestead. Michelle, Minho, Newt and myself. Antsy from the fight, hearts racing, and either adrenaline or bravery coursing through our veins. Blood pumping loud enough that I can hear Minho's next to me.

"We're shucking confessing," Newt tells us, as if there is no other option.

I stop for a second. "You nuts?"

"If we don't, he's just gonna go nuts and banished her and a whole shuck load of shanks." Newt is resigned to the future. "And, I guarantee he'll banish Ben, who'll get you both banished too."

"I'm not letting Leo go down for me," Minho tells me. Finally, his voice is calm.

I guess I keep moving because I can't let her either. Somewhere along the way, I realised I like Leo. It's weird, and seems an odd fit for me, but part of me cares for these girls in ways that aren't simply about having fun. It's like what I have with Minho.

Michelle gulps, knowing she is next. I guess that's why she doesn't run for the hills. In all of this, she's shucked up the least. Which is why it sucks she's the first to die. I guess, its my fault, but I don't regret any of it. I hate that I am forced to pick between them and Minho, because we're all a family.

"You think he'll banish Dawn?" He asks, looking over at me.

Newt shrugs. I'm not surprised Minho doesn't ask about himself. It's in the air. Of course, Minho is one of Alby's top guys, but Minho broke the two shucking biggest rules, and lied about it. Doesn't help that Alby's raging.

I don't know what our plan is, but apparently, we are going to save Leo. And apparently, we're doing so no matter the cost.


	76. I'm slouching

Michelle 75

Alby, the shucking shank, was already waiting for us when we show up. He is sitting in the Gathering room, with all the chairs in a circle around him. There are more seats than body, so when we walk in and Minho shuts the door, Newt moves a few away.

Alby raises an eyebrow, but he doesn't seem surprised. His eyes sort of linger on Minho, since he's the guy who Alby expected the least. Of course, Newt is a shucking princess, so I'm surprised Alby doesn't immediately ask Newt what he's doing.

I sit down in the chair on the end, although I scoot as far away as I can from the others. I'm still not one hundred percent on if they are going to throw me under the bus or not, so I'm ready to throw them back if I need to. I have a pocket knife that Gally loaned me, and I never gave it back to him, so if one of these shanks snitches, I'm ready.

"So, anymore lies y'all've come to tell me?" Alby crosses his arms over his chest. "I take it my message was shucking clear."

Newt sits on the end farthest from me, and Minho finds himself sandwiched between Newt and Dawn. Fitting, because most of this is his shucking fault. He just had to get shucking caught with Dawn. See, this is the difference between me and that lot. If I do something shucking dumb, I make damn sure I am not getting caught.

And I've kissed more than one Glader in broad daylight. And done way worse than that with the lights off.

"Depends on what Leo told you," Minho tries to joke, but his voice falls flat.

Alby crosses his arms over his chest, so tightly I imagine his shirt is going to pop open. Why is everyone here so over dramatic, beating around the bush like its some deal? I would say something, but like, I don't want to talk. Especially not to Alby, snice I thought he and I were cool.

"That she beat up Ben with a shovel," Alby offers.

I snicker out loud. Does he seriously shucking believe that? Dawn leans over and nudges me, lightly but seriously.

"And you shuckin' believed her?" Minho asks, leaning forward. "Sometimes I think we'd be better off having a Slopper make calls than you."

"I hope you know Minho, that you are the only Shank who can talk to me like that," Alby snaps, although he seems pissed. "And I ain't putting up with that klunk anymore until someone tells me what is happening."

I wait for any of them to speak up, reclining in my chair. Alby simply glares at this decision and I only recline further, until I'm practically lying on the chair. This is exactly how much I respect the Glade as an institution.

"Ben attacked Dawn," Newt rips off the truth, his voice shaking. "Way back when she was hurt, that was him."

"I figured as much," Alby sighs, before biting his lip. "And let me guess, he tried to attack Michelle so she beat him up?"

More or less. I shrug, looking over to let any of them take over. When no one does, I roll my eyes. "I barely hit him. Could've done a lot worse if I wanted to."

Alby only rolls his eyes at this, shaking his head back and forth. I don't care if it isn't what he wanted to hear. Really, I barely touched the guy. This is all Minho's fault.

"I hit him," Minho tells Alby. "Saw him sneak in the Deadheads after Michelle, and I've always thought the guy was a selfish slinthead. I was shucking right. He tried to force himself on them."

"And no one told me, why?" Alby asks, turning to Newt. "You covered this all up when you're the shank who's always got my back on order. Klunk friend you are."

Newt's face turns pink and I roll my eyes. I look out my window, and can't see David. I don't see Gally either, and I wish one of them was here. Gally would know what to say that isn't the truth. These guys, for some reason, decided the truth is better.

"Al, I had to," Newt sighs, leaning forward. "You don't understand."

Of course he doesn't, because no one will explain it. The chair behind Alby creaks. He lifts an arm up to his chin, rubbing it with the back of his hand across the scratchy skin. Waiting for someone to take over.

"Oh, would somebody just shucking tell him?" I ask, finally sitting up. "Fat lot of help you slintheads are. I doubt he'll even care."

Alby sighs, not waiting for anyone's response. "Let me guess, Dawn and Minho? Seriously?"

Neither of them answer, since there is no good answer. No one is worth dying over, so their violation of the rules is pretty shucking dumb. Then, I think about Dave. While the shank is nothing special, I can imagine myself risking death just to feel him again. Nothing in favour of him though, just what that whole thing felt like.

I almost feel sick when I wonder if Gally would feel the same.

"I figured the only thing Newt gives a shuck more than the rules is making sure nobody dies." Alby rolls up his sleeves, barely paying us any mind. "I've never seen the shank rule in favour of a banishment. That's why we make such good partners anyway, since you won't banish any shank and I'll banish every shank."

"Good that," Minho nods. I forget that if either of those shanks die, Minho takes up a leadership roll. He has more authority than anyone else here, and for some reason the Gladers respect the Runners. Not that it matters right now, but I don't think there is any point in getting banished.

"So, what now?" Newt asks.

"That was shucking easier than I thought," Dawn exhales, and I roll my eyes.

Alby stands up, moving the chair away. The other three find themselves on their feet seconds later, but I continue to lounge in my chair. If anything, I recline further.

"I have every right to banish you," I look up when Alby says this. "You both have been breaking a shucking big rule, seeing each other."

I finally stand up, moving myself behind the chair. "But not me?"

"Obviously not you," Alby snorts, looking around. "You did what exactly? Have someone attack you? And you didn't tell me because you thought I'd banish you? I don't blame you."

"He can't be a bit of a slinthead sometimes," Minho adds, another out of place joke.

Alby only sighs, trying to decide whether or not to agree with or scold Minho. I don't particularly care so long as I am off the hook. The only reason I came is because David told me Alby was acting all jacked and wanted to banish a whole bunch of people. If I had realised I was off the hook, I wouldn't have wasted my time showing up.

"You going to banish us though?" Dawn takes a step forward, and I watching Minho's hand curl as he tries to reach for her.

Alby waits, but then he shakes his head. "The rule wasn't meant to stop you two from shacking, but from Gladers like Ben. At least I'm glad you didn't get in a fight over her, Minho. I'd definitely banish you for that."

"Good that," I mutter, and Minho shoots me a glare. I make a face at him. He thinks just because we take down a violent boy together, violently, doesn't mean we are friends. If that were true, I'd be friends with a lot more people. Violence isn't really a big deal.

"But you can't banish Ben," Newt adds in. "He'll make sure the other Gladers know about Dawn and Minho. You can't banish three people at once."

Alby shrugs his shoulders. "My plan is to move Michelle to the Slicers."

The what's now? He can't be serious. I'm actually beginning to tolerate Gally and now he wants to separate us? Because of something Ben did? He is shucking off his shucking rocker, what a shucking klunk. I wish I had words to describe this. The only feeling worthwhile is anger, and I'm livid.

"You're shucking what now!" I almost yell, standing up. Alby only steps closer to me.

"I can't have you working with him, and preventing him from being a Runner is punishment enough for now," Alby begins. "In a couple weeks I will work out a way to demote him to Slopper."

That's not good enough. I walk out of the room, and find myself slamming the door shut behind me. If Alby can't take care of this, I will find a way out of this myself.


	77. We're not ready

Leo

"I never got a chance to thank you." The lights are going down all around us as the camp becomes dimly lit. Alby let me out an hour ago, and thanked me. It was only now that I found Newt, sitting against the Wall, alone.

I'm just happy no one else was hurt, and I'm happy that even though it is going to take some time, Ben will be punished. And that, provided no one else finds out, Minho and Dawn are home free.

The fact that I'm not banished is barely a bonus.

"For what?" Newt sits on the ground, swishing the drink in his glass.

I'm glad Gally thought it was a good time to have a bonfire. Even though there is going to be one tomorrow, I'm happy everyone can be calm and have a good time. Michelle is talking to someone too. Winston actually, which surprises me. I didn't think she talked to anyone.

"For this," I kind of gesture around me, before sitting down.

Newt chuckles. "You know Lee, I didn't make the grass around us."

I playfully lean in to him, snatching his drink from his hands and taking a sip of it. He laughs reaching for it out of my hands. "Oh, would you quit it?"

"I meant," gasping for air as I hand him back the glass, "for making it so I could see this all. For not getting me banished, and for lifting me out of the bleach."

"Least I could do I guess, since the whole thing is my fault," he rubs the back of his neck as he empties the glass. "Honestly, if I have just shucking told Alby, Ben could actually have been banished and they could've just thrown Dawn and Minho in the Slammer for a night. Since I dragged it all out, Ben won't be punished."

I don't know that Alby would've simply slapped Dawn and Minho on the wrist, but I shrug. "They say all is well that ends well, don't they?"

"Well, this isn't the ending I hope." Newt leans back against the stone behind me.

It's weird to see him sitting off in the corner. He has friends, so I imagine he'd be the life of the party. Whenever he is with a group of people though, he tends to sit off in small groups, chatting. He isn't like Dawn and Minho, laughing with their friends. As much as I want to, I'll never be quite like her, or fit in quite like her, or be with her.

I guess it's not too bad though, since I can at least talk with Newt. He gets me, like, in ways I'd rather not admit.

"It is for the Greenie who is about to come up," I note, looking over at the box. "I've only been here a month and I don't think I'm the same person who popped up."

He nods. I glance at him out the peripherals of my vision, and realise he is staring at me. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No," he shakes his head, giggling, "I'm just pretty shucked."

He always laughs when he's had too much to drink. I find myself laughing too, a bit. I couldn't have giggled with him at the beginning of this. The Leo who first got here wouldn't have calmly waited for her banishment in a room soaked with blood. This time was my time to change, and I'm glad it was early on.

"No kidding," I smile, looking back at the ground.

"Lee," Newt stops laughing, and I turn to look at him again. Moving my head like this back and forth is going to give me whiplash. Newt looks serious though, so I wait for him to speak. "Please don't leave me."

I've never noticed the sadness in Newt's voice. This whole time I mistook it for anxiety, but somewhere deep inside Newt's soul is a hopelessness that rivals the fear that is constantly clawing at my throat. Since I'm a little more shucked than I'd like to admit, I don't feel it right now but it's always there. I guess even the drink can't quench his darkness.

I nod carefully, and he leans into my side. With our heads pressed together, we sit in silence.

Dawn 

"You should put that down Dee."

I ignore Minho as I drink more. We're in his room now, the party having died down hours ago. I snuck in to find him asleep, although I was wide awake. He's going to have a rough morning tomorrow when he's running, but if I ask Frypan nicely he'll let me sleep in.

"Seriously," his sleep chuckle makes me choke on the liquid, and it spills all over the floor, "how much have you had?"

More glasses than fingers on my hand, at least. "I lost count after five."

"Didn't realise you could still count when you're this shucked," he guides me away from the door towards the bed. "Thanks for helping her here, Fry."

Frypan laughs from his belly, tittering out of the doorframe. "Never seen someone hold it in like her except Gally. He's got a new rival. Just, don't let her come to work in the morning."

"Your food's bad enough without it containing vomit," Minho's snide remark makes me giggle. I can imagine Frypan rolling his eyes from here, even though I can't see them. He's going to be so mad at me in the morning.

"Siggy I'm sorry," I turn to the boy, and I can feel myself about to cry. "It's just been really, really hard."

Frypan's hands wrap around me, taking me from Minho. He holds me pressed against him, like he is trying to consume me. I shove him off, stumbling back onto the floor. Minho catches me.

"What are you doing?" Minho's voice seems sort of amused, but this isn't funny.

Ben hurt me, and if I had let Fry have the chance he would've too. I can't trust anyone, not even Minho. I'm drunk and I thought it would make me forget about him. Instead, everything feels like a threat. Klunk's so messed I can't even drink to forget.

"She's jacked man," Fry tells him, trying to assure him this is okay.

I can't believe he just gets to go free. Maybe that's why I'm crying. It isn't even pleasant. It's messy and loud, and Fry actually hands me a pillow to put against my face, since I am definitely going to wake some Gladers up.

I try to say it outloud, but the words get choked in my mouth and I continue to cry. Is this what Gally's drink does to me?

The door shuts, and Frypan is gone. Minho is leaning on the ground, trying to wrap his arms around me.

"Don't touch me," I manage, breaking my mouth free from the pillow.

Minho rolls his eyes, pulling me in closer to him. "If you really mean that, and can say it again, I'll let you go."

I hate that he knows me so well. I'm trying to be upset and he's not doing a very good job of helping. It's impossible to be mad at him when he is being this nice.

He sits with me on the ground, his fingers wrapping around my hair. He doesn't ask questions as he presses a kiss into my forehead, since I know he thinks questions are pretty dumb shuck things to ask. I appreciate it though, as he leans against me.

"I love you, Greenie," he says it to me, and I'm too shucked to believe him.

"I love you, Maze boy."

Minho has left the curtains open, so I can see out the window. Deep in the night, I don't notice the stars. I don't think of their bright shinning colour, maybe it's because I'm shucked or maybe it's because I know that some where in the Glade, Ben is underneath the same stars.

It sickens me that he might think they are just as wonderful as I do. When I realise he is going to be able to look up at them for much longer, and that I won't have justice without having destruction, I really start crying.

Michelle

"Hey," most of the boys are distracted. The box is supposed to arrive any minute now, so they are beginning to mill about. No one is doing their job when they think somebody new is coming. There are a few rumours going around that it is going to be another girl, which is met with equal amounts of enthusiasm and dismay.

I agree. Odds are, the next girl will be just as shuck-faced as the rest of them.

As of now, I am still avoiding going to work with Winston. Last night, he told me I'd start after noon tomorrow, since he's already pissed off enough without having to train me. I see he doesn't forget the time I threw a knife into whatever shucking animal he was prepping.

I am going to be working closely with the Cooks now too. I don't know if I want to die because it means I'm going to be forced to spend time with David, or if it's because I get to see Gally less. I like to think it's the former, but I can't be sure.

"Hey, you," I can see Ben staring out into the Maze, like some forlorn and lost puppy.

He is looking out, into the Maze, staring. Maybe he misses being a Runner and all the power and privileges, but I don't even care. He's a piece of klunk.

"Slim it," he commands me, and I find my feet perfectly planted on the ground.

Ben's face has gone white with terror. I step closer to him, trying to see what he is looking at.

My feet freeze beneath me, and I can't move. There is a Griever at the end of the hallway. They don't come this close to the Doors, as far as I know. I never thought to ask if one could just waltz in here in the daytime. I thought the Doors closed at night to protect us from them. I didn't realise they'd be hanging around here.

Neither Ben nor I say anything, but the Griever seems to be staring us down. I haven't seen one without a layer of protection, and I wonder how Dawn did it without screaming in terror.

"Go," I shove Ben forward, his feet clambering off the cobblestone. There is no echo in the Glade, but the Maze is different. Here, things have consequences, but there it's different. There, things are much, much more real.

He turns around to look at me, and I find my feet on the stone as well, shoving him forward. The Griever comes rolling up the path behind us. Ben tries to shove past me, but I pull my knife out of my pocket.

He immediately leaps backwards, unsure of my violence or the Grievers. My knife is in his leg, sticking out. He collapses to the ground, and I lift the tool out of his thigh. My eyes look straight into the Griever looming above us, and I trip and fall. My feet land just outside the Maze, and I watch the Griever go in for the kill.

I turn around running, as I hear Ben screaming.

Let him die.

Ella

The alarm went off, and now we are all standing around the hole. I find myself at the back of the crowd, ready for what comes next.

I will have her soon.

The gears grind below us, which must be hard to do. How much farther does this go down? It feels like we are at the bottom, sinking slowly. Everyone is grey, but everyone is real. He is coming, I can feel him. Soon, the boy will be among us who brings with him the end, and no one listened to me.

No one except Zart, who stands with me now. Soon he will die. Soon everyone will die, and I can't care. So long as I live, none of this matters. I must live. I will live for her, and live for the future days yet to come. There isn't much time left. We have minutes before the end.

Leo peers down at the box, waiting for it to open any second. Dawn stands next to boys who I don't recognise, but she smiles when they whisper in her ears. Michelle is bright red and she is alone.

We are ASUNDER.

Divided and apart, we are pieces of a whole. Fractured by the world we were brought into. Bleeding in agony. Let them call our names. A hope of a nation of nations; we have left them defeated. Our purpose unfulfilled we have forgotten why we are here. No thunder rains in this Glade ASUNDER. Let them love while they can, before they lose it all, but let us united.

For the danger in the box cannot be stop while we do not know each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, so I've been publishing this work for like, a year and a half on Wattpad, and I've realised that is a garbage site, so I'm moving here. All the chapters will be up pretty much momentarily, as well as the near entirety of the second book. Enjoy!


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